by Ellen Parker
“Then you’ve been hacked. By someone who knows you well enough to sound plausible at first read.”
Jackson couldn’t ignore the sudden chill at the base of his spine. He closed his eyes and mentally reviewed his personal computer protection. Usually he changed passwords and ran virus scans on a schedule. “I’ll look into it. Maybe in the confusion of the move, I skipped a password change.”
Daryl nodded. “About the Cosgrove girl…”
“Beth. She operates the dog portion of their business.” Beautiful freckles. Charming smile. Jackson kept those opinions silent.
“Yes, she does. Decent accountant too, from what I hear. Better musician than she wants to admit.” He spread tartar sauce on a piece of hot fish. “She’s also a very private person. Consider yourself warned.”
“I’ll remember.”
The caution neither surprised nor discouraged him. Jackson figured that by the time most people neared thirty, they had a history including at least one broken, or damaged, affair of the heart. His past, of which he was not proud, included one breakup in which he’d been wounded and she’d been devastated. He understood the necessity for their parting. Years later, he remained uncertain how well she understood what he’d done. According to her family, she wandered in and out of denial the same way she started and abandoned therapy for bipolar disorder.
Jackson gathered the business cards and tucked them into his wallet. “Good to see you. I’ve got an appointment to finish organizing the office corner of my room.”
“Give my best to Linc and Mona. Kathy mentioned getting together for dinner soon. The two of you should get better acquainted.”
“Will do. Have Kathy call Mona. She’s the social secretary for the orchard.”
He took his bill and credit card over to the cashier station. He refused to lie to Daryl, but he also figured the work on his home office would survive a delay of an hour or more. The remaining daylight would make a drive south of town more pleasant. It was a good opportunity to get reacquainted with the area around Big Cat Creek.
Chapter Three
Beth tucked the receipt for today’s purchase at Farm Service into her wallet and added it to her tote. This was her final errand for the day. She’d tacked the stop here for two weeks of chicken feed onto a meeting with a potential accounting client. With a signed copy of her standard contract in her tote, her mood was as sunny as the hot August afternoon.
“Be careful out there. Thermometer on the loading dock is flirting with a hundred.” Sam, the clerk, punched open a new box of work gloves.
“I’m headed from here to a cool house and a hot spreadsheet.”
He laughed. “Tell Anita I’ll call her.”
“Will do.” Beth waved to the man and continued to the door.
Her thoughts stayed on Sam and her cousin, Anita. One of these days, or months—hopefully not years—Sam and Anita would make their engagement official. She liked Sam. He was decent, hard-working, and took his position of legal guardian to his younger brother seriously.
When Anita married Sam, Beth assumed they would move into the old farmhouse. Built near the end of the 1920s, the four-bedroom house currently sat unoccupied and under renovation. Or rather, it stood stalled in the middle of repairs. It was a matter of money. And as long as the suit with Double Goode Seed Company dragged on, the next round of updates was delayed.
Forget the house, she reminded herself. Big Cat Farm had more immediate needs. It would take all the organic produce, accounting, and puppy income they could generate to stay solvent.
She pulled down her sunglasses one step outside of the door and angled toward Anita’s truck at the end of the loading dock. The sturdy little vehicle was more suited to today’s errands than her van.
“Hey, Beth. Come see what I have.”
She turned in the direction of the voice and smiled as a puppy yipped. “Did you get your dog?”
Jackson stepped away from the rear door of his Jeep. A shepherd pup with a pure black body, tan legs, and oversized ears was perched on one arm and steadied by the other. The animal pushed his nose at his master’s cheek. “He’s all hair and tongue.”
“On him, it looks good.” She crossed the packed gravel in a few long strides. A moment later, she presented her hand for the puppy’s inspection.
The pup sniffed her palm and fingers. Finding them acceptable, he licked her skin.
“I think he likes you.”
“Probably smells the pack I handle.” She picked up a tan paw and inspected the pads. “Twelve weeks?”
“Eleven.”
“He’s going to be a big boy.” She pushed back an image of the pup as an adult, siring a litter with one of her bitches.
“His mother’s eighty pounds. Dad a little larger.”
She nodded, ran her thumb across the short tan hair, and released the foot.
Jackson shifted his weight and stilled his fingers rubbing the pup’s neck. “About the other day. I apologize. I didn’t find out about the Double Goode Seed case until Tuesday.”
“The name of the law firm took me by surprise.” Before she’d completed the drive home last Friday, she’d realized that he wouldn’t know about the suit. However, the case did provide her a good reason to avoid him. “We need to avoid a conflict of interest.”
“Yes. Might be difficult in a town this size. Should we exchange schedules so I don’t end up in the same place at the same time as you or your cousins?”
She rubbed the dog behind an ear and laughed. “That might require more contact than letting common sense take its course.”
“True. Keep contact professional. Minimal.”
“Have you named this guy?” Nothing more professional and non-personal than talking dogs. And the one on his arm radiated charm.
“I have.”
She shifted her gaze from pup to master and back again.
“Bailiff. He and Cider, the orchard dog, will have the job of keeping order around the place.”
“At the moment, I’d wager he’ll cause more mischief than he prevents.”
“I think you’d win that one.”
She gestured toward the building. “The clerk is named Sam. He’s dog-friendly.”
“Good to know.” He set Bailiff on the ground and shifted a black nylon leash from one hand to the other.
“Take care, Mr. Dray.” She pivoted away and walked toward the truck.
“Name’s Jackson. Unless we’re in court.”
“I’ll remember that.”
She sat in the truck cab and watched him enter the building, an eager puppy running circles at his feet. It’s wrong. She clenched and unclenched her fist. At least she’d not made a total fool of herself by touching him. The urge to see if his handshake contained a spark again today had tempted her. She shook her head. No, getting friendly with the man would be wrong. The lawsuit would do for an excuse, helped by the fact it was a real obstacle. But the other reason, the one court settlements didn’t figure into, remained the primary problem.
Starting the truck, she pulled onto the street. Half the town thinks I’m divorced. Most of the rest of them work on the assumption I’m widowed or single. The fact that I put my wedding band away when I moved here feeds some rumors while preventing a different category of question. She shivered at the thought of new acquaintances checking her hand and asking about her husband. They’re all wrong.
At least her family, the people who mattered, knew why she didn’t date. A bumpy marriage to Bruce Morse remained without a proper ending. The man had disappeared in the rough terrain of Jo Daviss County, Illinois. No messages. No body. No resolution.
“Lawyers.” She made the final turn off the Valley Road. “Why am I attracted to them? Is it some sort of genetic defect?”
She added another brick to the invisible wall between her and the lawyer with a magnetic smile and manner.
* * *
Jackson admired the fit of Beth’s jeans as she walked to the truck. He looked at Bail
iff and talked low. “She looks good from both sides. Thanks for giving her a good first impression.”
A few moments later, he smiled a greeting at the clerk. “Is my short friend welcome in here? It’s too hot to leave him in the car.”
Sam leaned over the counter. “No problem when on a leash. I’m guessing you’re here for a large supply of puppy kibble.”
“You guessed right. I’m Jackson Dray, brother of Linc at the orchard.” He extended a hand over the counter.
“Brother? I do see a strong family resemblance. Orchard must be doing okay if he brought in another person.”
“Family works cheap.” Or in his case, family supplied both labor and a small amount of cash flow in the form of rent.
“I’m familiar with that phenomenon.”
Deciding that he and Sam would get along fine, Jackson pulled a note out of his shirt pocket and unfolded it with one hand. “This is what the breeder was feeding. Do you carry it?”
“Five-pound bags in aisle three. Larger sizes in the back.”
“I’ll take a twenty if you have it.”
Jackson tugged Bailiff into the pet supply aisle and started selecting bowls and toys. Squatting and testing the stiffness of a ring-shaped toy, he ignored the sound of the door opening for another patron. A moment later, the leash looped on his wrist tightened.
“A puppy. How cute.”
No. Jackson’s brain yelled denial. It couldn’t be her. According to his usually reliable sources, as of June, she lived in Appleton, a safe two hundred miles away.
He stood, dropped the chew toys into the metal bowl, and confirmed his fear with one glance beyond his wiggling puppy. “He’s not for sale, Sylvia.”
She smiled at him and continued to rub Bailiff’s neck and shoulders. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t my best friend, Jackson.”
“Former,” he corrected.
He studied her for a long moment. Her appearance remained the same. She wore her long blond hair in a messy knot on top of her head to add a little height. The bright red tank top and short shorts fit the wardrobe choices she’d made in the past. Around her throat was a stainless steel initial pendant, a gift from him during a happier time.
She sent him a flirty pair of blinks and a grin. “Doesn’t need to be.”
“I disagree. Why are you here?”
“Buying houseplant stuff.” She pointed toward a display of ceramic pots, specialty potting soils, and accessories. “Does he have a name?”
“Bailiff.”
“Cute. Perfect for a lawyer.”
“I meant in Crystal Springs. You were always a city girl.” He refused to let her drop the previous topic.
“Tastes change. I needed a break from the stress and noise. A friend recommended a small town.”
His skin chilled. It appeared she was up to her old tricks. During the first year of law school, more than two years after he’d broken their romantic relationship, she’d called, texted, and emailed him at all hours of the day and night. For the most part, he’d ignored her. The attempted contact had dwindled to tolerable after he had a conversation with her parents. Now it had been over a year since he’d had any direct contact from her.
“Would I happen to know this advice-giving friend?” He doubted it came from a family member. His relationship with her parents and brother, neighbors of his own parents, remained good. They understood Sylvia suffered long periods of denial as part of her mental illness. He rather hoped a well-meaning psychiatrist had not planted this “small town” idea.
“Don’t think so.”
“If you craved quiet, why not your family’s cabin? Can’t get much more isolated than outside Templeton.”
The resort region was dotted with summer homes around the lakes. Private, state, and national forest occupied most of the land between the scattered developments. Overall, the population density was the lowest in the state.
“Too much family in the summer. Unreliable internet. I do web design for my brother’s company. Crystal Springs happens to be a small town with fast service.” She stood, turned away, and sneezed into her elbow.
“Still allergic to dogs, I see.”
“I’ve learned to cope.”
Jackson shrugged and picked up his purchases. Her answers awakened old fears. He didn’t see anything positive about both of them living in Crystal Springs. Her history of plotting and planning to get her way at any cost to others darkened his mood.
“No reason for you to frown, Jackson. I’ve a right to live where I choose. No approval from you necessary.”
“Then we’re in agreement. I live my life. You live yours. Keep the circles from touching.” Impossible. The size of the village practically assured they’d cross paths from time to time. The very same fact gave him hope with a certain redhead.
He walked to the counter and set his small items beside the cash register.
Sam returned with the bag of puppy formula. “Sorry about the delay. It was hiding behind the senior dog mix. Will this be on the orchard account?”
“No. Personal credit card today.” Jackson forced his voice and hands to stay steady as he paid for the supplies.
Sylvia was still nearby, and she radiated the scent of spring flowers, reviving a memory of when they were friends, companions, and neighbors. An image of racing down the street on their bicycles, laughing into the wind, surfaced. Too much. Growing up across the street from each other, dating senior year of high school, and a stint as lovers in college gave him more memories including Sylvia than he cared for. The sour ones at the end dominated. Years ago, his lust for her had cooled to toleration. It was near ice now, threaded with a line of sympathy for her illness.
“It’s going to be good to be neighbors again,” she said while running her fingers over the selection of houseplant fertilizers.
“Speak for yourself.” He allowed his internal coward to imagine staying close to the orchard when not working in Wagoner. The same coward would urge Mona and Linc to handle most of the Crystal Springs errands. He shook his head. No, he would not allow her presence to curtail becoming part of the community.
“Maybe I’ll see you at the orchard. I’ve been teaching myself to cook.”
Not if I see you first. He sent her a fake smile and recited the seasonal information as he passed her on his way to the door. “Retail sales start next weekend. Hours are nine to sunset.”
Chapter Four
Kevin Morse opened the Sunday edition of the local newspaper and pulled out the sports section. The top left quarter of the first page contained a report recounting pre-season professional football injuries and speculation on how long each player would be disabled. He read accounts of which players would miss games and which young players would have an opportunity to make the final team roster.
He rolled his shoulders, blinked at a twinge of pain, and sighed. Football was a short career at best. His playing days and dreams of glory had ended years ago, thanks to injuries on the college freshman team. The lucky few. He closed his eyes and tried to put his face in a professional uniform.
Around him, families dined on hot sandwiches and cold drinks. Strong acrylic panels from clear to smoke gray separated a play area and a few tables of parents from the main dining room. The customers this early afternoon were a nice mix of travelers and locals. He’d suggested this meeting place for that very reason. The two of them would blend in. If she showed. He glanced at his large, expensive Swiss watch. Fifteen minutes late. I don’t have all day for this.
Five minutes later, he glanced up in time to see her push open the door. He stalled his gaze, raised the unread, folded portion of the paper shoulder high, and caught her attention.
“Is that mine?” She pointed at one of the two large drinks in front of him while setting a large purse on the molded plastic bench and scooting in beside it.
“You’re late. You get diet cola with melted ice.” He handed her a wrapped straw.
“Did you get what you wanted?”
He nodded. “Keep it coming.”
“Password changed yesterday.”
He inspected the young woman. She’d grown up on the fringes of his life, one of several summer acquaintances filling in the vacation scene at his grandparents’ lake property. Running into her this spring, after half a dozen years, had been fortunate for both of them. She had information-gathering skills, and he needed technical assistance. After a few discreet inquiries, he’d invited her over one afternoon when he was alone on the lake property. Their long conversation on his grandmother’s dock had ended with a deal.
“Sounds like your problem, not mine.”
“Keeping you informed. It may be routine. Or she may be suspicious.” She took a long drink, wiped her lips with a napkin, and smiled. “This is a good project. Interesting people.”
“Don’t get too close.” He trusted her reputation with computers. But he also listened when others mentioned her mood swings. It would ruin everything if she said the wrong thing to his target.
“So far I’ve spoken to her exactly once. A comment about the weather. I doubt she remembers me.”
“Keep it that way as long as possible.”
“Of course.” She tipped her head and sent him a flirty smile.
“This is purely a business arrangement. I stay out of your personal life. You give me the same courtesy.”
He admired her figure, especially the ample breasts in a tight knit top. Unbidden, a mental image involving holding her tightly against his body invaded. Then he shook the fantasy away. Off-limits. Casual affairs could turn against a man.
He cultivated relationships with the goal of slipping through invisible barriers. His future wife needed to be pretty, but other things were more important. Her family should be socially established and agreeable with his politics. The last was especially important, since he wanted a wife helpful to his aspirations. And he had his sights set higher than the next city council elections.
“Question.” She set her drink aside. “How long will this project last?”
Kevin pushed the folded paper to her side of the table. “Depends on the quality of the information.”
