by Julee Baker
Tough questions confronted Hawk. Questions he knew would come back to haunt him in the middle of the night, when, without daytime distractions, the inescapable specter of truth appears and wraps itself around you so tight you can’t ignore it.
They pinched at him now—did he subconsciously want to put Lake McDonald in the role of injurer, because it would be easier for him? Ease his guilt about being unable to save her parents? Would it be easier on him if he could categorize her as a hurtful person, instead of a woman injured by tragedy? A tragedy, despite all his training, he’d been helpless to prevent.
Hawk groaned at the self-revelation. Not one prone to pushing frustrations onto others, it left him with a knot in the pit of his stomach.
He turned on the heel of his black Justin’s to rejoin his dog and the Doc, but he couldn’t help glancing out the window at Lake’s stiff back receding into the distance. Hawk issued a silent prayer—I could use some help—with a lot of things.
***
Lake bee-lined it out of Doc Simon’s office and across the street. Cutting through an alley, she stomped through every puddle that dared get in her way and headed for her studio. It felt good to let off steam.
Her pace gradually slowed as she realized, in all honesty, she would be distraught too—if she had a dog like Elle and it was hurting. But she wouldn’t have been so judgmental. She would have listened. Hopefully, the dog would be all right. Lake would check later, but there was no way she would let Matthews find out.
Matthews. She shook her head and stormed the rest of the way to her studio. No amount of shaking her head and talking to herself would remove their recent encounters from her mind.
What a waste of great cheekbones. In another universe, she would have asked to use him as a model for Wild Wear, a client of hers. A skilled eye couldn’t help analyzing that enigmatic look. The camera would love him—great jaw line—dark, full head of hair over dark brows—his mouth—the photographer in her switched off. She couldn’t consider his mouth without connecting it with the damaging words that had come out of it.
Jeremy was like that—only blond. Well, and not so muscular. Jeremy had turned out to be like one of those chocolates that look so good, but when you got to the inside—nothing but a gooey mess of yuck. Was there any guy out there with a soft, rich, caramel center?
Stop. How had a professional study of Hawk Matthews’s cheekbones turned into a comparison with Jeremy? Or chocolate? Humph . . . Maybe it was all men. Best to turn her thoughts off the course they were traveling. They were both jerks.
Note to self—make sure to raise River to be a different kind of man.
Okay Lake—stop it, reminding herself it was Sunday. Hadn’t she been in church a few hours ago? Being this big sister-mom—how was she ever going to do this thing right?
The hurt and pain was still so fresh. Lake considered her silent treatment of God. Sometimes it didn’t feel right—like maybe it was wearing her down further. Still—questions hung over her like big, dark clouds. Why, why, why? Her life before last year had been pretty great. She thought she’d appreciated it. Another calamity he said . . .
Her mind wandered back to Matthews. She’d be willing to bet, any woman on the receiving end of that voice, in different circumstances, and if the charm were turned on, would pretty much turn to mush. His tone of voice as he comforted his dog—well, it was as smooth as Belgium chocolate. Lake tried to shake it, but it played over and over in her head like one of those songs that won’t go away. Annoying. The more she tried to make it stop, the more it stayed.
Think of anything else. Think . . .
Chocolate. Chocolate might do the trick. Always appropriate. At least the thought of chocolate turned her mind elsewhere. Back at the apartment, she searched her kitchen. Nothing. Grrrr. Need chocolate. Need chocolate now.
She looked at the clock. Two. River wouldn’t be home until five. Plenty of time, she thought as she closed the door and headed to Suzanne’s for a piece of her famous Molten Mocha Chocolate Cake. Oh, yeah, that should do it. She’d have chocolate and figure out how to get up to her Jeep. At least the truck issue was solved. Not quite the way she planned, but at least it was done.
A few minutes later, she’d made herself comfortable in a booth at Suzanne’s, where she waited for her plate of Molten Mocha stress relief. It was cathartic, watching people stroll by the window, on their way to and from the various interesting shops in the quaint tourist town. Wow, a mini-blizzard yesterday and in the fifties today. This was more like it. People were coming out of hibernation.
She would stop by Sam’s office after her chocolate fix and see if he would be available to help solve the problem of the still stranded Jeep.
“A penny?” Suz asked as she set the treat in front of Lake.
Suz was a peach. Before she came home to Harmony, she went through a period of tough times. They had shared experiences during the long winter, over strong cups of tea and anything chocolate. She was originally from Whitefish, a few miles north. She’d gotten out fast after high school, planning to never look back. One little daughter, one loser boyfriend and a whole bunch of life lessons later, she was home again. Her parents had backed her in getting the loan for the diner and she hadn’t let them down. She worked hard. Lake admired that.
“You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”
Suz looked around, with no one in need of immediate attention, she scooted into the booth opposite Lake and laid the yellow order pad and pencil down on the red Formica. She crossed her forearms on the edge of the table.
“Try me.”
Lake focused on the forkful of extreme chocolate cake suspended in the space between them, appreciating its chocolaty lusciousness before launching into the condensed version of yesterday. “In the past twenty-four hours, I took some of the best shots of my career . . . I think. Then I lost the camera . . . ran cross-country from what I thought was a wolf—which turned out to be a dog.” She grimaced and continued, “Hawk Matthews’s dog.” Lake let that much sink in for a few seconds and tapped her pink nails on the red Formica for emphasis. “The fearless leader of Glacier Rapid Retreaters,” she finished sarcastically.
Suzanne sighed. “Honey—don’t you think—?”
“Don’t I think what?”
“Nothing. Never mind, go on with—what you were saying.”
She frowned. Suzanne wasn’t about to defend Matthews, was she? Suz had a tender heart, but she hadn’t been the one who pleaded with Matthews to save her parents. She’d give her a pass on this one. She continued—skimming over the assistance Matthews had provided fishing her out of the stream, segueing quickly to the part about the shortwave radio, “. . . and when I heard his name, and realized who he was—” Lake swallowed to clear the sudden catch in her voice, “I knew I couldn’t be stuck there. So, I kind of borrowed his truck—without—uh—actually asking,” Lake cringed at Suzanne’s expression, but defended her actions, “It was for his own good, Suz. Believe me, neither one of us wanted to be in the same room with the other. I did us both a favor.” Lake finished with a right-handed thump, sending the forkful of cake bouncing across the table. A quick move recovered it before it went over the edge.
“Two second rule,” and popped it in her mouth as she wiped some molten ooze off the table with her napkin.
Suz put the little yellow pencil she had been playing with behind her ear and raised an eyebrow at Lake, “So, let me get this straight, you figured taking . . . I mean ‘borrowing’ Hawk’s truck would get you away from him?” Adding, with a shake of her head, “Seems to me, you’ve forced him to track you down.”
Lake’s eyes grew bigger. “Definitely not my plan. Although, I’m not too worried about his tracking ability—according to my experience.” Then added flatly, “He already has his truck back, anyway.”
She explained how she found Elle on the side of the road. “Of course, he wouldn’t listen to what I had to say. I don’t think the word li
sten is in wonder boy’s vocabulary.” Lake plopped another forkful of the chocolate mood-fixer into her mouth.
“My goodness lady, you have been busy. Maybe I should have made that serving a double.”
“Oh no. This piece is huge. It’ll take days to work these calories off, but—oh, so worth it.” She closed her eyes in appreciation. “There are times when nothing will do the trick like your Molten cake.”
“A girl after my own heart.” Suz beamed at the compliment.
The bell tinkled on the café door, interrupting them.
Suz leaned in. Her words were fast and low. “John Colter . . . Hawk Matthews’s nemesis. Word is—Hawk thinks he’s trying to get his hands on the old Shadow mine.” She put a hand on Lake’s shoulder as she exited the booth.
“We’ll continue this conversation another time.” She winked at Lake and turned to the man headed their direction.
Lake turned attention to John Colter—Hawk Matthews’s nemesis? That’s what Suz had called him. Hmm, not bad looking. Late thirties maybe? Tanned. Had the look of a skier. Lots of good skiing close-by. Broad shoulders. From the looks of his clothes, he didn’t spare the bucks on his threads, either. A Denali jacket—every outfitter’s top of the line. Lake interned in college for a photographer who did work for Denali Outerwear. Not cheap.
“Hello, John.” Suz said cheerfully. “What can I get you this afternoon?”
Now, standing almost beside Lake’s table, he smiled, white teeth accentuating the tanned face. “For a start,” he smiled at Suzanne, then Lake, “an introduction.”
“Oh, sure. Lake, John Colter. John, Lake McDonald.” Suzanne raised an eyebrow opposite the side Colter was standing on.
Lake hid any trace of interest from her face as she exchanged greetings with the ‘nemesis’.
“Pleased to meet you Mr. Colter.” She extended her hand.
Instead of shaking her hand, he held it. “Lake McDonald. Unusual name. Very pleased to meet you. Please, call me John.”
“John.” Lake nodded and extricated her hand. “Call me Lake.”
“I would like to call you, Lake.”
He smiled at his own cleverness, but it was too practiced for Lake’s taste. Part of having a good “eye” was the ability to spot the genuine from the fake. Colter was an easy read—by the way he held her hand and rubbed his thumb over hers. No, it had taken her less than a minute to figure out they were not on the same wavelength.
“May I?” He asked. Not waiting for an answer—he slid into the spot Suzanne had vacated.
Suz took John’s order and was off when the doorbell tinkled again.
“I was almost finished. I’m afraid I have to run.” She started to scoot from the booth.
“Surely you have time for one cup of coffee? On me?” Colter smiled.
The coffee—on him—might not be a bad idea, but not quite the way he envisioned. He made her uncomfortable. She was about to answer, when, who should walk past the window directly beside them, but Hawk Matthews.
His fiery scowl cut like a laser through the window at them. From his vantage point, it probably appeared as though she and Colter were enjoying a cozy chat and coffee together.
Lake couldn’t remember the last time she’d been on the receiving end of such a scowl. Oh—wait a minute. Yes, she could— just this morning from—guess who.
Suddenly, the idea of another cup appealed to her. If it would get Matthews’s goat, she’d drink the whole pot with this Colter dude.
“One more cup couldn’t hurt.” She waved at Suz. “Another tea over here please, Suz?”
“Comin’ up.”
She would overrule her instincts this time, if it meant a chance to irritate Hawk Matthews further.
Hawk entered the café and surprised Lake by walking straight over to their booth.
“Well, isn’t this cozy?”
Colter stared back at him, “What’s it to you, Matthews, if I’m enjoying a cup of coffee with my friend?”
“Yeah, well, I wanted to tell your friend here, that my dog is going to be all right. She’s banged up, but should be okay. Nothing broken. I spotted you in here and thought I’d let you know the damage done by the truck was minimal.”
She met Matthews stare with her coolest glare, but made no comment. What was the use of trying to explain about his dog again? Instead, she turned a shiny smile toward John Colter.
“This cake is to die for. Whenever I need to get something unpleasant off my mind,” she shot a passing glance at Matthews—looming over the table. “Works like magic. Matter of fact, I just enjoyed a piece. It did the trick—until a minute ago.” She lifted a menu and feigned interest in it. “Or the pecan rolls . . . hard to decide between the two.”
Colter piped in, “Sorry to hear about the dog . . . being okay, that is. That mongrel of yours is a menace.”
You could have heard a pine needle drop. By this point, all eyes in the café were turned their direction. Lake noticed Matthews’s fist muscles tense. Did he intend to swing at Colter? From the way they were staring at each other, she wondered if she’d have to start ducking. Maybe she was getting in over her head here.
Matthews’s hand relaxed, but his jaw muscles clenched even more.
As far as she could tell, the dog was a great animal. Even after only a slight acquaintance, she could see the bond between man and dog—no matter what her personal feelings were toward the human side of the duo.
She hadn’t intended to speak to Matthews, but shocked at Colter’s cruel comment, words spilled out of her mouth, “Whether you believe it or not, I didn’t hit your dog. It appears to be a lovely animal. Dogs can’t choose their owners and I’m glad she’s going to be okay. But, I don’t actually care what you think.” She added plenty of emphasis to the last part.
Matthews turned his stare from Colter to her, but kept silent.
Poking a stick at a tiger—this is what that must feel like. Much as she would like to annoy him further, it might be best to cut her losses and make an exit. Evidently, this Colter was scum, if his comment toward the dog was any indication. She didn’t want to be associated with either one of them, anyway. No white hats here, only black.
“You know, on second thought,” she glanced at her watch, “I should run. Glad to have met you, Mr. Colter.”
She couldn’t force herself to say the standard “nice to have met you”, but she was glad she had met him. That was the truth. The whole encounter, however brief, had been illuminating.
“John. Call me John.” He smiled a crooked smile. “And don’t forget, you said I could call you, Lake.”
Very Funny. Ha, ha, thought Lake. What a difference a minor change in inflection could do to the intended meaning of a statement.
“I said you could call me Lake,” she stressed, adding, “Perhaps we should go back to Ms. McDonald.”
She picked up her ticket and slid out of the booth, turning her back on them, leaving John Colter with a smirk and Hawk Matthews with an expression she couldn’t quite interpret.
She wasn’t going to waste time trying.
FOUR
Bitter Taste
T
hey had just met? Hawk jammed his thought process into reverse, attempting to revise the scenario he’d formed about Lake. A scenario he’d evidently not taken the time to properly figure out. Why did he keep jumping to conclusions about her? It wasn’t like him.
He adjusted his hat. Matthews, you’re losing it. She’d insisted she hadn’t hit Elle, so who—
“Beautiful girl, isn’t she?” John Colter smirked as they watched Lake pay and leave the café, then took a slow, noisy sip of his coffee.
This wasn’t the time or the place to settle their differences. Hawk shot Colter a disgusted look and turned to leave.
A figure emerged from the corner booth. Previously out of view, but evidently not out of earshot, Sam Patrick was wearing the same devilish grin he’d sported during some o
f their most memorable escapades in high school. Hardly fitting for a sheriff, Hawk thought, but he knew Sam’s expression spoke more about his long-time friend’s ability to see right through him than anything having to do with law enforcement.
Sam must have been listening to the entire exchange. As he walked by, he purposely shoved an elbow into Hawk’s back, out of Colter’s view. Tipping his Stetson in their direction, he greeted, “Hawk—beautiful spring day—shame to spoil it—arguing.” The sheriff continued to the cash register, paid his bill and exited the café, grin still in place.
“What’s so funny?” Hawk pressed, a little ticked as he caught up with Sam on the sidewalk.
Sam chuckled. There’d always been good-natured sparring between them. Today evidently, Sam didn’t think Hawk was in the proper good-natured spirit. Consequently, Sam seemed to be enjoying it even more.
“What?” Hawk repeated.
“Smooth buddy, real smooth. Yeah—Lake’s sure impressed with you. Way to change her opinion, all right. Good for me, though. Thanks.”
“What makes you think I care what she thinks of me? Anyway, how do you know Lake McDonald?”
“Not everyone hibernates all winter.”
“I’ve been to town plenty.” Hawk repositioned his hat.
“GRRR calls don’t count.” He frowned at Hawk’s scowl. “You know, your face is gonna get stuck like that pretty soon.” Then, Sam turned serious. “Listen, I get that you two butted heads the night of the crash, and I know she’s not being fair to you—but she’s not a bad person. I’ve gotten to know her a bit. She’s trying to cope. Her world’s been thrown upside down. She’ll figure it out. World-class photographer—like her folks. Moved up here for her little brother, after the accident.” Sam shook his head.
They watched her moving away, about a block down the street. Hawk folded his arms across his chest.
“Personally, I don’t care if she gets it figured out or not. But professionally, I really wish she’d stop shooting her mouth off—about what a lousy job she thinks I did that night. It was tough enough—” he cleared his throat and stopped talking.
