“No, not at all. I’ll call back in, say…twenty minutes?” Elicia sounded pleased at the idea. “Maybe we can grab a coffee somewhere before we head back.” With a little wave she headed for the door.
Amy wandered down to the Natural History section at the back of the small library. After several minutes’ browsing she came to the conclusion there was nothing here that was not duplicated on Connie’s own bookshelves. Connie had simply done as Virgil had stated, passed on her surplus author’s stock to the town library. No wonder he was happy. With Connie’s international reputation, if she kept endorsing his library like this, eventually he would end up with a unique collection and a center of study for her work.
Slowly meandering back to the front desk, she hesitated by the General Interest section, surprised that there was an entire shelf on code breaking, word puzzles, and other conundrums. She pulled a few down and flicked through the pages. Now this might be interesting. She eventually selected a basic introduction to ciphers and their history and took it up to Virgil’s counter. He appeared out of his office almost immediately.
“Found something?” He went to his computer and punched a few keys.
“Is it okay if I borrow this one?” She set it down before him.
“Of course you can. I’ll use the same address details for Connie, but I’ll need your full name for the temporary ticket.”
“Amy Amelia Fortune.”
“You’re as well known as your aunt,” he said. Amy smiled back easily.
“Well, not quite. I’m based in Europe and the competition there is fierce. But I do get my fair share of intriguing commissions.”
“I loved your book on Elizabethan gardens. Connie told me it was actually a televised series in Britain, and your illustrations were used for the opening credits.”
“Yes. That was very special. I loved working on that project.”
She was pleased he knew of it, and equally pleased Connie was proud of it, too.
“Do you study codes and ciphers for relaxation?” he asked as he entered the book’s details beside her name.
“Not really. It’s something that’s beginning to interest me, and this book looked like an easy starting point. You have quite a few back there.”
“Yes. It’s an interest of my own, and being the librarian I have the luxury of ordering the books I like, as well as the few requests I get for the latest best sellers. I think of it as a perk.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Nearly a year now.”
“Good grief. Miss Crosier hung in there.”
“No, no.” He laughed. “Miss Crosier passed away quite a few years ago. After she retired another lady took over, but she left very suddenly. Then I applied for the post.” The door swung open as Elicia returned.
“Hey, good timing. You get what you want?” She noted the book in Amy’s hand.
“Yes, and you?”
“Yeah, let’s go grab that coffee.” They took their leave of the kindly Mr. Bloomsy and went out into the sharp fall day. The sky was electric blue, and the small town lay huddled in a horseshoe of snow-capped peaks and dark green forests.
“The car’s open. Why not dump your book with my messages? Mmm, is there a place around here to get a coffee?” Elicia looked up and down the street, not seeing anywhere obvious.
Amy opened the back door and placed her book on the rear seat.
“There’s a little booth section at the back of Johnston’s store. It’s not the best but it’s better than nothing,” she called over her shoulder. As she pulled back, her coat sleeve brushed against Elicia’s pharmacy bag, tipping the contents. Amy quickly scooped them back into the paper sack, but not before she noticed the home pregnancy kit. She set the sack upright and closed the car door. Elicia was a few paces ahead, leading the way to Johnston’s.
It’s none of my business. But I hope if she is pregnant it’s what she and Jori want. Amy hurried to catch up, deciding to forget what she had inadvertently seen.
“I don’t know what sucks most. The coffee or the service,” Elicia muttered into the cup that had been slammed down in front of her only moments ago. Both women had jumped in their seats as Norman Johnston served them with abrupt and surly rudeness.
“The service…you can always sweeten the coffee,” Amy mumbled back, mopping up the coffee spill with her own tissues. The paper napkin dispenser was empty.
Elicia shuddered at her first mouthful. “This is stone cold. Is yours?” Amy took a small sip and nodded.
“I’m taking these back.” Elicia lifted their drinks and headed for the counter. She returned minutes later with two steaming mugs and an angry face.
“That has got to be the rudest man on the planet. If I hadn’t watched his every move I swear he would have spat in our drinks. Why the hell he isn’t bankrupt I’ll never know,” she ranted. “What gives? They were just as stuck-up at the pharmacy. You’d think they didn’t want my money.”
“It’s always been like this. Once they find you’re from the valley they treat you like you kicked their dog, or sideswiped their truck, or ran away with their wife, wallet, rifle, God knows what.”
“Well, why the hell is that?”
“History mostly. They just hate the Garouls. They sort of blame the family for the town’s decline. But I think it’s more like envy or scapegoating.”
“What have the Garouls ever done to this pokey little place?”
“Nothing. The problems began after the war, when many of the young men who left to fight didn’t return to logging. I suppose there were new and better opportunities opening up in the late forties. In fact, the timber industry in this area slid into decline. There were simply better resources and easier access farther north.”
Elicia looked at her. “I still don’t get it. What has the decline of logging got to do with the Garouls?”
“Basically, the town believed Little Dip should be opened up for public logging. It had plentiful premium timber that the family managed for itself. Still does. Sylvie Garoul, Marie and Claude’s mother, said no. And she was right to. It would have made no difference to the commercial climate of the time and possibly taken away Garoul autonomy in the valley forever.”
“The Garouls always seem to have a woman in charge.”
“Yes, they believe in matriarchy, all right. Hallelujah.” Amy smiled as Elicia snorted into her coffee.
“Boy, these people can hold a grudge. All that was over sixty years ago.”
“Well, every so often it bubbles up again over some other issue. Connie told me it was tourism this time. There’s some funding available for promoting hunting and fishing businesses. Some townsfolk thought they could benefit by providing accommodation for visiting hunters. But the best access to Silverthread is through Little Dip and Marie refused right of way down to the river, or any hunting on Garoul property. She wants to keep it strictly for family use. Hence the dark stares. The Garouls own the prime land around here outright. Have for generations, and they won’t give up an inch of it. And frankly, it sticks in some people’s craws. End of story. And I’m afraid there’s no way I’m drinking this cup of scalding mud.”
“I would understand local opinion better if the valley was neglected, but it’s carefully managed and the Garouls use it all the time.” Elicia also pushed her untouched drink away and stood to leave. “Guess it explains the bad service and shitty attitude. But there’s no excuse for this coffee. Come on, let’s head back. I think I’ve had enough of Lost Creek hospitality.”
CHAPTER NINE
Amy was tired by the time she said good-bye to Elicia and wandered up the trail to Connie’s cabin. She desperately needed a shower, and some lunch, in that order. Then she needed to set up Connie’s studio for the work she planned to do later. What she didn’t need was Leone Garoul sitting on her porch step scowling. Yet here she is.
Her unwelcome visitor sat with her elbows on her knees, viciously shredding leaves from a twig as she watched Amy approac
h. Amy immediately scowled back, too tired to assume haughty disinterest. Leone flung the denuded twig away and strode over to meet her.
“Where were you this morning?” she demanded.
“What do you mean, where was I? I was working, and then I went into town with Elicia,” Amy replied hotly. How dare Leone address her like this. What was her freakin’ problem?
“Working? I waited for hours up at Big Jack. You never showed.” Leone’s voice was tight with held back anger.
“I was further down the ridge. I never said I was going to Big Jack, and I sure as hell didn’t ask you to meet me there. In fact, I remember saying the exact opposite.” Amy was too tired to hold back anything, especially her annoyance at Leone’s high-handedness.
Leone glared at her, face thunderous. “You know it’s dangerous to be wandering around the valley alone. You need to tell me what—”
“I don’t want another goddamn shadow. You refuse to listen. I said I didn’t need your company and I still don’t.”
“I’m only trying to—”
“You’re trying to monitor every freakin’ move I make is what you’re trying to do. And it’s suffocating.” With that Amy pushed past Leone onto the porch. Wearily she dropped her backpack onto the wooden planks. She was about to open the door when rough hands grabbed her and spun her around.
“You need to tell me your plans. This is no joke.” Leone’s jaw was tight.
Amy knew Leone was on the verge of losing her temper, but she didn’t care. Leone Garoul was nothing to her. She jerked her arm to try to free it but Leone’s fingers tightened painfully.
“Let me go.” Amy tugged again. “Now.”
Instead Leone backed her up against the cabin wall, pinning her with her body. The height difference was intimidating, the cabin rough and uncomfortable against her back. Amy froze. She recognized this move from before…when they were young…when they were lovers. Leone would reach for her bottom, squeezing and massaging, then hoist her up in one quick, effortless lift. Amy would wrap her legs around Leone’s waist and be kissed, and caressed, and fucked up against whatever wall, tree, vehicle, they happened to be standing by.
She also recognized the hungry glint in Leone’s dark eyes. It was an old look—half forgotten. Remembered only in vague, hot, troublesome dreams that left Amy feeling lost and adrift for days afterward. A look that said I want you, I’ll have you, you’re mine. Amy knew that look could swallow her whole. It had chewed her up and spat her out before.
She felt Leone’s hands on her hips, ready to lift her, ready to settle her onto Leone’s waist, ready to carry them straight back into the past.
“No.” Amy pushed at solid shoulders, trying to gain an inch of room to slide out and get away. “No. I don’t want this.”
A deep growl rumbled in Leone’s throat. Her hands drifted over the curve of Amy’s buttocks and rested there, warm and heavy through the denim. Slowly she lowered her head, the growl fading away to a reverberation in her chest. Amy twisted her face away from the oncoming kiss. Leone’s breath blazed across her cheek, hot and excited. Their faces were close. Too close.
“For God’s sake, what are you doing? I told you I’m not interested,” Amy snapped, panicking. She had no control here. She knew where they were heading and was terrified. She couldn’t go there, couldn’t go back.
Leone stilled. Carefully she released her grip on Amy, but she didn’t step back, not one inch. Amy had to wriggle out past her, brushing up against her to escape. Heat poured off Leone like a furnace. Amy could feel her entire body tense as she squeezed slowly past her; Leone hummed like a charged bomb.
Free of her, Amy turned away and ran shaking hands through her tangled hair, her face flushed.
“Don’t ever touch me like that again. We’re through. You had your chance years ago and you walked away.”
“I didn’t want to.” Leone’s voice was thick and hard.
“But you did. And now it’s history.”
“It doesn’t have—”
“It does. I called you and asked why you left so suddenly, and you said you wanted to be where you were more than with me. Well, now it’s my turn to feel like that.” Amy took a deep breath. “I came here to do a job. That’s all. Let’s concentrate on that, not the past. I don’t want to keep looking over my shoulder, Leone. I want to move on with my life.”
With that she walked through the door, slamming it shut behind her. She was upset, stunned, confused. Tears filled her eyes. She didn’t need this on top of the day she’d had. She didn’t need Leone Garoul back in her life…not like that. It amazed her that after all these years she should feel such a strong sexual pull for her. And it scared her that her teenage hurt still pulsed so close to the surface, covering every inch of her, threading through her skin like a network of poisoned veins.
Outside Leone stared sullenly at the closed door. Her temper had made her move too soon. But she didn’t regret it. She savored it. Amy swamped her senses. Her tongue tingled with Amy’s scent.
“Look where moving on with your life brought you,” she murmured to the wood planking. “Right back to me.”
Amy changed into sweats and made a light lunch before digging her library book out of her backpack. Her anger at Leone’s overbearing behavior began to dissipate. In a cold, rational light she realized that Leone was as much captive of their past as she was. It had poured from her since that first night when she had pulled Amy into that boa constrictor hug, intense, suffocating, stealing all the air between them.
Amy didn’t want this vacuum. All she needed to do was keep a calm head and keep Leone at a safe distance, and she could get through this. In fact, they both could. It was hormones, and…and history. And closure. Yes, they were both seeking closure. They were both raw, even after all this time. Red raw. The sexual connection was still there, strong as ever. It had not diminished. But that didn’t mean they had to act on it either. She couldn’t afford to be sidetracked with this nostalgic nonsense. There was an important job to do. Brimful of new resolve, she stood and moved to the studio. She had paper to stretch and a studio to set up.
Connie’s studio was one large north-facing room. It got great light for most of the day, but a clever lighting system using Daylight North bulbs allowed for late night working. Connie liked to paint past midnight and into the small hours. They both found it a satisfying and relaxing way to end the day. And there was nothing more delightful for Amy than taking her field sketches and digital images and translating them into a detailed illustration.
After soaking the art paper in cold water, she fixed the edges to one of Connie’s drawing boards with gummed tape. The unusual proportions required for her insets reminded her of the bastardized page size of all the Garoul’s almanacs. Why is that? I must ask Marie more about it at supper. Amy thoughtfully crunched on the cherry candy Connie left all over her workplace. There had to be a good reason to offset the expense of nonstandard paper sizing. Amy had a lot of questions for Marie this evening.
Work done, Amy began rinsing her hands clean in the sink when she noticed a colorful cloth draped over a small table at the back of the studio. She wandered over and lifted a corner. With a frown she pulled it completely away. Underneath was a compact workbench complete with a vise. It was littered with saws, borax, tongs, and hammers. There was even a small smelter. Connie must have been experimenting with metals. Strange, she’d never mentioned it. There were no books about it in her library either, that Amy could recall. Amy knew Connie would read everything she could get her hands on if a new interest engaged her. But there was no information on precious metals or jewelry making on her shelves, and this equipment was expensive, so she was doing more than dabbling.
Once again Amy sorely missed Connie, if only to sit down and have an illuminating conversation with her. She was sure there was a reasonable explanation for all the little mysteries that seemed to be piling up all around her. She was missing something obvious and probably very trivial. Something
that would make her feel like an idiot the moment it was revealed in all its glory.
Amy replaced the cloth and returned to the kitchen. She collected the trout she’d promised Marie. It would be nice to relax with her this evening and share a glass of wine. She still had a million questions about Garoul Press and the nature of Connie’s work within it. Perhaps a one-to-one chat with Marie might shed a little more light.
Marie hugged her warmly when she arrived, gift in hand. “My goodness, this is a big fella. There’ll be plenty for supper, and unless Leone joins us, leftovers for tomorrow’s lunch.” She took the wrapped fish to the kitchen to prepare it for the broiler.
“You should have seen the fight he put up.” Amy followed her, relaying a blow-by-blow account of her fishing exploits.
She grabbed her usual seat by the kitchen counter and sat and watched Marie’s movements as she put together supper. Marie looked tired. There were dark rings under her eyes, and now that Amy noticed, she was a little disheveled. Her clothes were crumpled, her long hair needed combing, and her hands were covered with deep scratches that disappeared under her cuffs.
“Marie? Are you okay? You’ve got some nasty scratches there.”
“Oh, they’re nothing. I was out foraging in the undergrowth and got cut. I got back here too late to clean up.”
Amy felt guilty. “I’ll look after dinner. You go jump in the shower.” But already Marie was shaking her head.
“I’ll have a long soak in the tub later.” She gave Amy a pleasant smile but her eyes were flat with sadness and exhaustion. “I’m okay, Amy. Just tired. Fetch me the creamer, dear. It’s in the fridge. Top shelf.”
Amy did as she was asked, knowing that any further questions would not be welcomed. But she was curious and concerned. Wild herb foraging did not abuse the body to the extent of Marie’s cuts, bruises, and general fatigue. Whatever she had been up to, it had taken a lot out of her, though her manner was as relaxed and calm as ever.
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