Night Talk

by Rebecca Daniels

  "Okay." She nodded. "That sounds great."

  He walked to the door and opened it. "Give me a shout if you need anything."

  "I'll do that," she said as she watched him leave.

  She stared at the closed door for a moment. He'd been perfectly polite and perfectly thoughtful. So why was she feeling disappointed? What more did she expect?

  "Just knock it off, Jane," she warned her alter ego with a shake of her head. She pushed the covers aside and swung out of bed. "Stop analyzing everything."

  The bare floor felt frigid and she moved quickly as she pulled out a pair of jeans and a sweater from her athletic bag. By the time she had her clothes on and had brushed her teeth, the fire was putting out a steady stream of heat.

  Fumbling quickly through her bag, she found a pair of thick cotton socks. Taking them, she grabbed a wooden chair from the table and pulled it across the room to the stove. She sat down, and dangled one icy bare foot inches from the hot cast iron until her skin felt warm and toasty.

  "Mmm," she moaned, quickly slipping a sock over her warm skin and savoring the heat. Pleased with herself, she repeated the process with the other foot. She was lacing up her running shoes, when she suddenly stopped and straightened.

  "He didn't look at me," she said out loud. That was it! He'd been friendly, he'd smiled, he'd been a perfect gentlemen, but…"He didn't look at me. Why didn't he? What does that mean?"

  With an exasperated sigh, she stood up and dragged the chair back to the table. It was only natural she'd be aware of the man. They were the only two people at the ranger station, the only two people for miles around. But that didn't mean she needed to analyze his every move.

  "Dear, dear Jane, you're working overtime," she warned herself, taking a deep breath as she headed for the door. "Give me a break this time, please? Don't!"

  * * *

  It was probably a good idea she'd decided not to pursue a life of crime, because he suspected she would have made a very successful criminal. She had the unique ability to show nothing of what she was feeling—not just mask her emotions, but simply not show them at all! It was a device he'd seen used by one or two particularly clever criminals to evade capture. They'd succeeded because they had always looked so innocent, no one had ever suspected them of doing anything wrong. And no doubt hiding her emotions came in handy in her line of work as well. Counselors, therapists, psychiatrists probably all became adept at controlling their feelings so as to reveal nothing to their patients.

  But there was no way she'd been able to hide her reaction when she'd stepped out of her room. The look on her face said it all.

  "Oh my God!" she gasped as she climbed down the stairs and started across the compound towards the tower. She turned around once, twice, a third time, taking in the breathtaking panorama.

  "Welcome to the top of the world," he said, walking across the gravel to meet her. His frail, mortal hand had played no part in the creation of such grandeur, but he couldn't help feeling a sense of pride, as though it had.

  "I had…I had no idea," she said. She spread her arms out wide and did another three-sixty. "This…this is incredible."

  "It's pretty amazing," he agreed, trying not to notice just how alive and how beautiful she looked. "What was it you asked me about mountains last night?"

  She laughed, covering her mouth with her hands. "I did, didn't I?"

  At nearly eight thousand feet, Mount Holloway towered above the landscape as far as the eye could see. The March morning air was cold and crisp, but the sky was clear, making the view from the peak spectacular.

  "Unbelievable," she sighed, the wind blowing her hair across her face. She grabbed at her hair, turning to look up at him. "Just unbeliev—" But she stopped abruptly, forgetting about her hair and pointing behind him. "That isn't…I mean, is that…?"

  He turned around, following her line of vision to the towering stone structure that was his home. "That's Eagle's Eye."

  She walked slowly across the gravel driveway. "It's so beautiful. Last night it was so dark. I just saw the small light above the door." She looked up at the tower, shading her eyes against the sun. "It's so…tall."

  "A lot of stairs to climb," he commented dryly. "The stone stands around fifteen feet. Steel reinforces the enclosed wood tower above. The whole thing stands just under thirty feet."

  She shook her head, turning to him. "I hate to keep saying this but I had no idea."

  "Most people don't," he said with a shrug. "We're a little off the beaten track."

  "I guess," she said, her gaze scanning the panorama again. "What's that over there?"

  "The road?"

  She blinked. "That's a road?"

  He smiled. "It's the road we drove up on."

  She spun around and looked at him. "You're kidding."

  She looked so utterly aghast at the thought, it was all he could do to keep from laughing. "I'm not."

  She turned back, grabbing her hair again as she stared at the narrow, twisting route carved out of the mountain. "It was darker last night than I thought."

  "Come on," he said with a laugh. "I'll show you around."

  He led her up the stone steps and into the tower. The door led to a small porch where an ancient-looking washing machine and basin stood.

  "This is the pantry," he said, pointing to the white wood-slate door just inside the porch. "I try to keep the pantry pretty well stocked, canned goods mostly. Help yourself to anything you can find. I usually do a run down the mountain for supplies once a month or so, six weeks, depending on the weather or the time of the year. Fresh foods—fruits, vegetables, things like that—are a little hard to store, but there is a small basement or root cellar. I try to keep some apples, bananas, potatoes, onions, things like that, down there when I can get them." He pulled open a narrow door on the opposite wall, a gush of cool air rushing out. Reaching up, he pulled the string hanging from a bare bulb just inside, its dim light exposing thick, rough-hewn steps leading down into darkness. "It also doubles as a wine cellar—mostly reds, but there are a few bottles of white if you're interested." He turned off the light and shut the door. "If you need something in the meantime, I make a weekly patrol to Vega Flats down the other side of the canyon."

  "Vega Flats? You mean there's a town around here?"

  "I wouldn't exactly call it a town. More like a fishing village—bait shop, tavern. Only about a half dozen or so residents year-round but it can get a little lively during hunting and camping season. Mac owns and runs the tavern. He makes a supply run about every week. He can always pick up something." He started out, tapping on the basin as he passed. "The washer only looks like it's on its last legs but it does work. Not very fancy, but it gets the clothes clean. No dryer but there's a line outside—and when it's windy, a few minutes outside is about all it takes."

  He stepped through another open doorway into the kitchen. "Are you sure you're not hungry?"

  She shook her head. "I'm not much of a breakfast eater."

  "Cup of coffee then?"

  "I would love that," she said, following him in. "Smells great."

  "This is the main kitchen—a lot bigger than the little convenience one in the other apartment," he pointed out, opening a cupboard and bringing out a mug. He filled the cup and offered it to her. "If you are ever in the mood to cook, feel free. I'm no Emeril Lagasse and hopefully I wouldn't poison you, but I'm not making any promises."

  "Well, I don't expect you to cook for me," she insisted, taking the mug from him. "Or wait on me. I meant it when I said I don't want to bother you. I've been taking care of myself for a long time and can pull my own weight, honestly."

  "Whatever you say," he said, returning the coffeepot to the stove. She had been very polite, very friendly, but the message had been clear. She wasn't interested in spending time with him. "You do your thing and I'll do mine. Deal?"

  "Deal."

  "You eat when you want to eat and I'll eat when I want to, how does that sound?"

 
"Perfect!"

  "Want some creamer for your coffee?"

  "That would be nice, yes."

  "In the cupboard above the sink," he said, nodding in the direction. "Get it yourself."

  She laughed. "Good, you're getting the idea."

  Despite the smile and pleasant disposition, he recognized the change in her. Like a shade coming down and blocking out the sun, she revealed nothing. That small window of insight he'd had earlier had closed; she was in control again, showing him only what she wanted him to see.

  "When you're finished," he said, heading through the kitchen toward the spiral staircase, "come on up if you want. I can show you the tower."

  He didn't wait for an answer, but left her there stirring her coffee. If she wanted, she could follow, but he wasn't about to force her to do anything she didn't want.

  Taking the steps two at a time, he climbed quickly. He was overreacting, he understood that, but he couldn't seem to help himself. He had thought finding out about the stalker and the ordeal she'd been dealing with had answered all his questions as to why she had been so cool to him at the wedding. He'd used it as a way of explaining why she'd been so distracted, so jumpy and uneasy whenever he'd been around. But now he wasn't so sure.

  At the top of the stairs his heart was beating fast but it had nothing to do with the exertion of having climbed the long, twisting flight of stairs. He was upset. He was acting like an idiot. He was being unreasonable, expecting too much. He understood what kind of toll the stress of the last eight months would have taken on her, understood the kind of pressure she'd been under. So why did he insist on taking it personally? He was acting as though they were friends, and they weren't. She seemed familiar to him only because he'd listened to her for so long on the radio. She hadn't come to Eagle's Eye because she wanted to be his friend; she'd come because she needed his help. Why couldn't he seem to get that straight?

  He reached for the binoculars, taking them to the window and scanning the sprawling landscape. He knew why. If she were just some ice princess with a prickly personality, he could deal with it, but she wasn't—at least he didn't think she was. That was what he found so unnerving. She could be icy and prickly and all the rest, but every once in a while that shade would lift and she would look the way she did this morning.

  He put down the binoculars but continued to stare out into the distance. But it wasn't the blue sky or the white, fluffy clouds he was seeing, it was her face and the way she had looked when she'd stepped outside this morning. Why did she do that? Why did she give him just a glimpse, just enough real emotion to make him think Jane Streeter was really in there somewhere?

  "That's quite a climb."

  He turned just as she reached up the last step, coffee mug in her hand. "It's cut down my time on the StairMaster."

  "Wow," she said, walking to the window and surveying the view. "Just when I thought the view couldn't get any better."

  "Here," he said, offering her the binoculars. "Give these a try."

  Setting her coffee mug down, she took them from him. "Talk about a million-dollar view," she said, looking through the glass. "And you do this every day?" She peeked over the top at him. "They pay you for this?"

  "It's a dirty job," he said with a shrug.

  "So what is all this?" she asked, gesturing around the tower.

  He walked through the room, pointing as he went along. "Maps, charts, log, computer—"

  "Computer?"

  "Hey, we may be mountain folk, but we're not rubes," he joked as he continued. "This is the two-way radio, the GPS, global positioning system, television—"

  "Television! You've got to be joking." She picked up her coffee and took another sip. "You have a television?"

  "Two actually. One here and one downstairs." He walked across the tower and pointed down. "And the satellite dish out back not only brings us about two hundred channels, it will also shoot Dear Jane to the towers over there on that mountaintop and then out to the rest of the world."

  She walked to where he stood and peered outside. "You mean we'll do the broadcast from up here? In the tower?"

  "Is that going to be okay?"

  She breathed out a small laugh, looking around again. "Are you kidding? I think that's going to be more than just okay." She set her coffee cup back down and reached for the binoculars again. "Will the feed take long to set up?"

  He shook his head. "A day or two maybe. It's really just a matter of coordinating with the radio station, doing a few test runs."

  "That is so great," she said. After a moment, her expression turned serious and she took a hesitant step forward. "Jake, in case I haven't said it already, I really want you to know how much I appreciate this—everything. I don't know how I can ever repay you or—"

  "Stop, stop," he said, raising his hand in surrender. "There is no need for you to repay anything. I'm just glad I was able to help. Besides, I'm doing this for purely selfish reasons."

  Her expression turned curious. "Oh?"

  "The Sly Fox may be fine as a replacement once in a while, but your listeners need Jane Streeter. We're Dear Jane junkies."

  She laughed, but gave him a skeptical look. "You've really listened to the show?"

  "I listen all the time. I told you, I'm a fan."

  She regarded him for a moment. "I'm flattered."

  He shrugged a shoulder. "Are you really?"

  Suddenly it was as though the air had become charged, the way it did just before lightning was about to strike. His heart thundered against his rib cage and pressure pushed against his chest.

  "So tell me, what do you do when you spot a fire?" she said blithely, turning away suddenly and bringing in the binoculars.

  The moment shattered like a mirror into a thousand pieces and he felt strangely unsettled and out of breath.

  "Uh…a lot depends on what kind it is," he stammered, struggling to regain his composure. "Whether any populated areas are being threatened or even if the tower itself is threatened." He walked to the small desk and arranged several of the maps sprawled across it. "Basically I'd radio down to Cedar Canyon for an aerial run, let them check it out. If they determine crews need to be called in, I help coordinate ground crews, evacuations, things like that."

  She put down the binoculars. "Evacuations? Does that happen very often?"

  "Gratefully no, but when it comes to fire, it's best not to mess around. It's a judgment call. You have to be cautious, but at the same time you can't call in the troops every time someone strikes a match. Where there's smoke, there's fire, but not every fire is a forest fire." He turned and pointed. "See those pines over there, on that ridge?"

  She peered through the glass again. "You mean by those big rocks?"

  "Just above them, yeah. That's Big Chumash Campgrounds. During camping season, you often see smoke from campfires. There are also trails that run up and down these canyons—you've got hikers, mountain bikers, hunters all through here."

  She focused the lenses. "And you watch over them all."

  He laughed. "Just like a guardian angel."

  "No, I'm serious," she said, setting down the binoculars and reaching for her coffee cup again. "That's quite a responsibility."

  He wasn't sure if her flattery was sincere or out of some misguided sense of gratitude, but either way it made him uncomfortable.

  "We've got company," he said, pointing out the window, anxious to change the subject.

  "What? Is someone here?"

  "Right there," he said, pointing to a family of raccoons as they made their way down a tree and across the driveway below.

  "Oh my gosh," she gasped, spotting them. "They're so adorable."

  "They're so nosy," he corrected, picking up one of the large maps and rolling it into a tight cylinder. Opening the slider, he stepped out onto the deck and whacked the rolled-up map noisily against the rail.

  The furry little dark-eyed creatures jumped and scrambled, making a mad dash back to the tree.

  "Oh, no," she
lamented, stepping out onto the deck behind him. "You frightened them away. How come?"

  He nodded to the Wrangler parked in the driveway below. "I left the window open when I moved the Jeep this morning. Believe me, there's nothing adorable about what they would do to the inside of my car."

  She laughed, grimacing. "I hadn't thought of that. I suppose you're right."

  "Which reminds me," he added. "It's probably a good idea to keep your door closed and windows shut if you're going to be out of the apartment for any length of time. Otherwise you just might end up with a close encounter of the critter kind, if you know what I mean."

  "Critters, huh?"

  "Yeah, and some may not be so adorable." He followed her back inside, sliding the door closed behind them. "I don't want to frighten you or anything, but this is the wilderness. There's a lot of wildlife around, it just pays to be careful."

  "Gotcha," she said with a nod. She walked around the tower again, slowly perusing the maps and equipment as she continued to sip her coffee. "Well, this is something," she said after a moment. "This had to have been quite an adjustment for you, being so far away from everything."

  "It took a little getting used to."

  "And to think you actually survive without pizza delivery, I'm impressed."

  That was a Dear Jane remark and he had to smile. "Not without a struggle."

  She laughed, but then her face grew serious. "A big change from L.A."

  "It was," he said, his gaze turning to the horizon. "But I was ready for a change. Now I can't imagine being anywhere else."

  "You don't miss being a cop?"

  It was a therapist's question and he couldn't help wondering just how much Ted had told her about him. He hadn't liked it when the department's shrinks had tried to psychoanalyze him and he wasn't crazy about the idea of her trying to either.

  "Sure, sometimes," he said matter-of-factly.

  He could see her in his peripheral vision, quiet and patient, giving him plenty of time in case he cared to elaborate. He didn't.

  "I think I'll go help myself to some more coffee, if that's okay."

  The fact that she'd dropped the subject so quickly surprised him. She had either picked up that it was a topic he wasn't interested in discussing, or she simply wasn't interested enough to pursue it. Either way, he was grateful.