by Julee Baker
Lake jumped into jeans and a Cubs sweatshirt. Hair still damp, she called Sam’s non-emergency number.
“Sheriff’s office.”
Uh-oh. Sounded like he could use another cup of coffee, or two.
“Good morning, Sam. It’s Lake McDonald. How are you?”
“Mornin’, Lake. “How am I? Hmm—been better. Bad accident, south of town around midnight. Didn’t get my beauty sleep. And earlier in the day we were quite concerned about a photographer that hadn’t returned from hiking . . .”
“A—yes—about that—” Lake tumbled through her explanation of yesterday’s events, trying to be as concise as possible, but ended up spilling words out all over each other when she came to the part about borrowing Matthews’s truck.
***
Sam listened to Lake stammer through her explanation with concern—though not for quite the same reasons she thought important. Hawk had radioed last night alerting him to the situation, so he’d already checked out the side street where Lake normally parked and seen Hawk’s truck, verifying that she’d made it back to town okay.
Hawk and Lake’s meeting under yesterday’s circumstances was not a welcome turn of events—seeing as how Sam had hoped the two could come to a better understanding of one another. He and Hawk had been good friends since high school sports and he hadn’t mentioned to him that Lake had moved into the apartment above her folks’ photography studio down the street. Sam, more than anyone, realized Hawk didn’t need to be reminded of the McDonald ordeal. The guy was still beating himself up about having to postpone the search that night. His friend considered it a failure, but, as far as Sam was concerned, he’d gone above and beyond the call of duty—especially after they’d almost lost one of their own team. The blizzard was plain, old bad luck on top of bad luck.
As for Lake, Sam had enjoyed their brief meetings and wanted to get better acquainted with the pretty photographer—maybe even change her opinion about Hawk at some point.
It would take a lot of doing. That woman had a lot on her plate right now.
Sam could imagine what Hawk’s attitude must have been when he found her yesterday—considering Hawk thought she was one of Colter’s flunkies. With the frequency that Colter, or one of his goons had been nosing around Shadow lately, well, Sam would be willing to bet smoke was coming out of his friend’s ears. Then, to find out she was Caleb and Anne McDonald’s daughter . . .
Lake’s explanation spiraled on. “—and I really couldn’t stay there a moment longer. I had to get to my Jeep. Then, when I got there, it was drifted in . . . and I needed to get home to River. He’s been having nightmares lately and I couldn’t have him worrying. Not to mention Fran and . . .”
Okay—time to be merciful and put an end to her stumbling explanation.
“Whoa, Lake—slow down. It’s okay. Taking off with his truck wasn’t the best way to handle things—but, what’s done is done. I mean, not everyone would be as understanding as Hawk. He radioed in last night. Wanted to make sure you got back to town. So, I’ve already been briefed on the whole story.”
“Oh . . . well, good.” A moment’s pause, then, “So—I won’t be arrested?”
“He’s not pressing any charges. You’re not going to be arrested.”
The relief was evident in her voice. “It’s supposed to get up to the upper fifties. The snow should melt fast. I’m thinking of driving the truck up to his place right after church this morning. I’ll put the truck in his drive and walk down the road to my Jeep.” she finished.
“Listen. I agree. Make getting the truck back a priority. I’ll let him know you’ll drive it back this morning.”
“I’m relieved I won’t have to take Fran up on her offer of bail money. Thanks. I owe you big time.”
“You don’t owe me anything. But, it does sound like you need to take a break. Let me buy you dinner at Suzanne’s.”
“Well . . . I don’t know . . . It looks like today will be filled with shuffling vehicles around and I’ve got a few other things to do, but, how about tomorrow night? Suzanne’s around six-thirty? River is signed up for a Young Artists class at the art center. He’ll be busy making clay animals until eight-thirty, so that would work for me. How about you? But, you don’t need to treat.”
“I’d like to buy, but, if that’s a condition . . . I’ll see you then. And, take it slow driving up to Hawk’s. It’s melting, but it’ll be slick where the sun hasn’t hit the road yet.”
“I’ll be careful. I’ve had more than enough excitement this weekend.”
No sooner had he ended the call with Lake, then his radio sounded—a car and a deer had tangled south of town. “Not again.” With a tired grown, he grabbed his hat and headed back to the patrol car.
The call to Hawk would have to wait.
***
Church let out shortly after ten o’clock. For Lake, it had never really started. Oh, she’d been going through the motions for River’s sake, but, for months now, she couldn’t get her mind into the readings. A Bible reading used to be a morning ritual. It now lay in exile in the bottom drawer of her dresser.
And this morning, she had the additional distraction of how to return the ‘borrowed’ truck to Hawk Matthews . . . of all the people in the world . . .
River’s, “Can I Lake? Can I? Can I?” pulled her attention back to the present as they exited the church into the bright sunlight. River’s friend from Sunday school, Zach, invited him to spend the afternoon. Of course, she agreed. It was wonderful River had a good friend . . . and it eliminated the need to call on Fran again. No way was River coming along on the truck errand.
Lake patted her pocket again. She had checked and rechecked it to make sure she had the spare set of Jeep keys. Oh, yes . . . this could get interesting. According to Sam, Matthews wasn’t a threat. Still, she didn’t want any trouble. Hopefully, she could deposit the truck in his drive and be gone before he even realized she’d been there.
Yikes. She filled the tank and watched the dollar dial spin. More than he deserved. Soon, the big silver Chevy purred down the road. Today’s warmer temps and bright sunshine were quickly turning winter’s last blast to rivulets and large, slushy puddles. Amazing what a difference a day made.
All she wanted to do at this point, was to get the truck back to Matthews’s place and wipe yesterday’s episode out of her mind.
Well, except for the camera. Finding it was a problem yet to be solved.
As she neared Matthews’s place, an attack of nerves caused her to review her plan. She psyched herself. Right. Okay. Get in and out fast. Leave the truck in the drive, unnoticed.
Why hadn’t she asked Sam or Fran or, basically anyone else, to do this favor for her? Maybe she could have talked Suzanne from the diner into helping her out. Heaven knows, she’d bought enough gooey pecan rolls in the past five months to start a college fund for that cute little girl of hers.
Too late now. She’d managed tougher things. She straightened up. The sooner anything involving Matthews was over, the better.
There—visible just beyond the last big curve before Matthews’s lane—the Jeep. A quick scan showed the drift had shrunk to half its previous size. Yes. No problem. She could drive right over what remained.
Did she dare look around for the missing camera? She needed it—those photos. They could be key to her and River’s future—or would it be better to wait a day or two and try to enlist some help?
These thoughts occupying her attention, she nearly missed spotting the animal laying at the side of the road. It looked like—a dog.
Matthews’s dog.
She swerved sharply to the right and parked off the road in front of the animal, dreading what she might find. As feared, it was his beautiful dog, lying motionless. Her stomach lurched as she dropped to her knees on the wet ground beside the wounded animal.
What had happened? She looked around—no one. Did someone hit the dog and leave her there? Couldn’t t
hey have stopped? Anger rose in Lake—no matter what her opinion of the dog’s owner, she had to help. What was its name? She’d been so upset yesterday, she strained to remember. E something. Elle—that’s what Matthews called her, wasn’t it?
A slight whine.
“Elle . . . Elle . . . good girl . . . yeah.” Should she touch a wounded animal? Lake gave a tentative stroke to the big dog’s shoulder. “Shhh, shhh . . . I’m gonna help you . . . It’s gonna be okay.”
But how? Could she lift the big dog into the truck? Would it bite out of fear? From the looks of her, she must weigh—what—seventy-five pounds? She’d have to try. Who knows how long she’d been lying out here, and what kind of injuries she had. If she could get her to the vet.
“Elle . . . girl . . . it’s okay . . . I’m gonna put you in the truck.” After a couple of tentative touches to see how the dog would react, it seemed safe enough to try and work her arms under the dog. “It’s okay . . . that a girl,” reassuring the dog as she worked to lift her. She inhaled deeply. This wasn’t going to be easy. At least Elle, for her part, was not resisting. Was that a good or bad sign?
Lord, please help me help her. It came out before she had time to think about it—or overrule the errant thought. She’d pretty much given up on prayer since the crash. With a frown, she refocused on the dog.
Ignoring her stinging knees, Lake worked her arms carefully under the dog, trying to figure out how to leverage standing up while holding a seventy-five-pound dog, when, around the bend buzzed a dirt bike.
Huh? . . . An answer to her prayer?
The dirt bike’s spinning tires sprayed gravel her direction as its driver skidded to a stop and dropped the bike on its side, engine barely off. The rider evidently recognized the urgency of the situation.
Removal of the black helmet revealed an all too familiar face.
Matthews.
Good thing she was already kneeling, as any strength left in her legs evaporated.
“What the . . . Elle . . .” His stricken expression went from his dog, to her, and back to the dog again, as he went to his knees and began, gently and methodically, running his hands over the entire dog.
Hawk Matthews’s next statement came out subdued—she supposed he didn’t want to frighten the dog—but it had the menacing low rumble of a volcano about to explode.
“What’d you do? Hit my dog with my truck? I know you hate me but—” His shot a searing look her way before turning back to the dog.
“No.” Lake defended herself. “No, I didn’t hit your dog.” No matter what she thought of him, she would never . . . could never let anyone, even him, think she would do something like . . .
A loud whimper drew their attention.
“Elle. Elle, girl . . . it’ll be all right . . .” He gently lifted the side of the dog’s mouth, speaking to himself as he examined. “Gums still pink—good. She’s awful quiet . . . not good . . . breathing hard. She may be going into shock.” He felt her stomach. “Hope her spleen’s not ruptured . . . probably already be dead if it was. Side’s pretty scraped up.” He nodded to the four-by-four as he lifted the injured dog and ground out an order. “Get in the passenger side.”
At her hesitation, he continued, “We’ve got to get her to the vet—now. And you’re going to help me—like it or not. Move!”
No matter what she thought of him, she needed to correct his assumption that she hit the dog—but, the important mission right now was a helpless animal suffering because of an irresponsible driver’s carelessness.
“I’m heading to Doc Simon’s. Get in—you can hold Elle in your lap while I drive.”
Lake stepped up into the passenger seat.
“Seatbelt.” Matthews ordered. She tried to comply, but couldn’t reach it as he laid the dog across her lap. Placing her arms around the dog, he told her, “Keep your arm across—there and the other right—here. She’s heavy, but you need to hold her as still as possible,” he insisted.
The amber eyes held a fiery insistence and Lake could do nothing but nod.
Pulling a backpack from behind the seat, he propped it under the dog’s head, then, removing his leather jacket, he placed it over them. As she held the dog, he reached past and grabbed the seatbelt, fastening it around her. Mere inches apart now, the power, concentration and strength surrounding him felt like a tangible force. Lake wasn’t prepared for his intense masculinity. The sensation silenced any further protestations of her innocence in the accident—for the time being.
He rounded the front of the truck, swept the door open, and swung his long frame inside.
“Hold on to her. Brace with your legs.”
Matthews maneuvered the truck through a hair-raising U-turn that left Lake squinting. She managed to resist the urge to reach for the “hang on” handle above the door, as they hightailed it back toward Harmony. A few death-defying swerves later, she decided she could do this. She’d just pretend she didn’t know who the person next to her was . . . the person who ruined her life. She shook her head. Not helping. Focus, Lake. Focus—on the dog. The heavy dog. Do what you have to do. This dog, this beautiful dog, was counting on them right now.
Lake bit down the explanations that kept rising to her lips. Matthews ignored her, but glanced frequently at his dog and consoled with a, “Hang in there Elle. It’ll be okay, girl. It’ll be okay.”
Once, an, “I came around the corner and—” managed to slip out, but it sounded feeble, even to her ears, as it slammed into the huge block of icy animosity wedged between them.
“Save it.” His voice, low and steady, stopped any protestation. It seemed neither of them wanted to upset the patient.
But, as the valley and Harmony came into view, she gave it one more try. Aiming for a calm steadiness she began, “You should know, I—”
“Listen.” He cut her off. “Let me concentrate on the road or we’ll all go over the edge.” His frown deepened. “Don’t talk about it now—just let me try to save my dog from your latest calamity.”
Your latest calamity.
Uhh. His words were like a punch in the stomach—
Your latest calamity . . .
That about summed it up, all right. Less than a year ago everything in her life was right on track, full steam ahead, next stop—happily ever after, Jeremy by her side. Her photography was getting noticed by the industry. Parents cheering her on . . .
No . . . No, no, no. Her vision blurred. Don’t do it Lake . . . don’t go there . . . stop. Full stop. She would not let him see her cry. She made herself so mad at times. The tears—just beneath the surface, ready to flood out. She never allowed herself to let go around River. One of these days, Lake had a feeling the dam would burst—but not here—not in front of Matthews. Maybe out in the forest—alone. Not now.
Force of will, Lake—force of will.
She kept silent after that, concentration focused on keeping a large, injured dog immobile on her lap and holding back a full-blown cry.
As for Matthews, he seemed relieved by her silence. Aside from one sideways look she caught as he made a brief, hands-free call to summon the vet, he didn’t look her way again. Lake kept eyes glued to the dog or the sight of Harmony growing closer.
***
Dr. Simon and his assistant met them with a “doggy” gurney as they drove up. It looked pretty much the same as the ones used for humans.
Hawk loosened Lake’s stiff arms from the dog, and they hurried into the office and back toward the exam room.
Lake followed, but was cut off by Matthews at the exam room door.
“Go. Just go.” Fatigue tinged his voice as he pushed fingers through his hair.
Lake took a step forward extending a hand and tried again. “Let me explain.”
“Keep your explanations—and please—from now on—keep away from me,” he fired. “Then maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to keep my truck, keep my dog alive and what’s left of my peace of mind.”
Shoulders back, feet apart and hands on hips, she fired her barrage. “All I’ve been doing since we crossed paths is—keeping my explanations. You don’t listen. You won’t listen. Like the night you left my parents in the blizzard. You didn’t listen then—you’re not listening now. If your dog weren’t hurt . . .”
Lake stopped herself short from spouting off a list of every rotten name she could think of and took a breath. Holding “the hand” in front of his face when he dared to open his mouth, she fired off another barrage, “I hope your dog’s all right. Animals don’t choose their people. She can’t help it if you’re a class A, number one, king of the mountain, bull-headed . . . failure.” She finished with, “And I will definitely keep away from you.”
With a defiant turn, she marched out the door, leaving Hawk Matthews in her verbal wake.
***
Judgmental . . . king of the mountain . . . bullheaded . . . failure . . . Hawk realized his mouth was open, poised to speak and he closed it with a grind of his teeth. No one had ever given him “the hand” before.
Even though she was berating him, he couldn’t help noticing those eyes of hers—the light glinting through their depths. It reminded him of the frozen waterfalls up in Banff—that otherworld aqua. Haunting.
Stop that thought right there. Those eyes could do damage to a guy—if circumstances were different.
But circumstances weren’t.
Guilt swept over him. First, for thinking about Lake’s eyes, while Elle was lying hurt in the next room. What was wrong with him? Second—the knowledge that he’d behaved badly. He raked fingers through his hair—but the motion couldn’t push the nagging feelings away. She’d wanted to explain what happened. He didn’t want to hear it. Deliberately stopped her.
