Nightfall

by Laura Griffin

  The cabin was dark inside. It wasn’t freezing, though, and she guessed he must have had a heater going earlier in the day. He flipped on a light and she looked up to see a chandelier made of deer antlers. She surveyed the layout. A small living area, a large fireplace. At the top of a ladder was a sleeping loft, where she noticed a rumpled bed. Tucked beneath the loft was a kitchen with outdated appliances.

  “It’s small, but it heats up pretty quick.” He switched on a space heater and then knelt beside the fireplace to stack the logs. “Hand me some of that newspaper, would you?”

  She glanced at the wooden coffee table, where a paper was spread out beside an empty coffee mug. It was open to an article about drug trafficking along Interstate 15. It was the Missoula paper—Holly recognized it because she’d read the same article over breakfast with her sister. Was it really just this morning? It seemed like weeks ago.

  Holly handed him the paper, and he made brisk work of getting the fire going. She edged closer as it crackled to life.

  “Thaw out,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

  She held her hands near the flame and closed her eyes as tingly warmth seeped into her toes and fingers. Even her nose stung. God, she’d thought she’d never get warm again, and the feeling of heat on her face now brought tears to her eyes. What is wrong with me? She never cried. But something about the events of the past hour had her emotions bubbling to the surface.

  Someone tried to kill me.

  Holly stifled a shudder and opened her eyes. She heard cabinets opening and closing, and soon, he was at her side again with a red first-aid kit and a wooden stool.

  “Sit.”

  She sat, which immediately seemed awkward because she was at eye-level with his waist. He crouched down and opened up the kit.

  “Nasty gash,” he said, tearing open an antiseptic wipe. “There’s a cut on your lip, too. You hit the steering wheel?”

  “I guess.” She reached up to touch her mouth. It felt swollen, and she remembered tasting blood as she’d climbed from the van.

  “Fair warning—this’ll sting.”

  Holly’s stomach fluttered as he rested his hand on the side of her face and tilted her head back slightly. She looked into the fire to distract herself.

  “Your van doesn’t have airbags?” he asked, going to work on her injury.

  “It pre-dates airbags. We call it the brontosaurus because it’s so old.”

  “Who’s ‘we’?”

  She shifted her gaze to his and something sparked between them. She glanced away. Was it her imagination, or was he asking about her marital status? Probably her imagination. She had to look like roadkill. She tucked a wayward curl behind her ear.

  “My sister,” she told him. “We’re in business together.”

  “A flower shop, huh?”

  She smiled. “Heather prefers ‘floral studio.’ I guess you looked in the back?”

  “Yep.” He dabbed the cut.

  “Ouch!”

  “Sorry.” His gaze met hers. “You’ve really got some dirt in here. You fall on a rock?”

  “I’m not sure. I couldn’t see, really.”

  He looked concerned now. “Can you tell me what day it is?”

  She took a deep breath. “Friday, November fifth.” It was engraved on her brain. The day she was supposed to collect the check that would save her floundering business.

  “Count backward from a thousand.”

  She shot him a glare. “I’m not drunk.”

  He waited patiently until she complied. After about ten seconds, he gave a nod. “Bend your head forward,” he said. “That hurt?”

  “A little sore.”

  He settled his hands on the back of her head and palpated her skull, right through all the tangles and leaves in her hair.

  “Look at me.”

  She did. His irises were nearly black and she could see the fire reflected in them. The moment stretched out. Holly’s chest tightened and her heart started to thud.

  His gaze shifted to her cut. “You could probably use a few stitches. I’m not equipped to do it here, but I could run you to Bozeman.”

  She just stared at him. She was new to Montana, but even she knew that would take at least two hours, given the weather.

  “Ah, probably not worth it,” he said, rummaging through the kit. “It’ll heal up pretty good if you keep a butterfly on it.”

  “Where’d you get your medical training?”

  He looked at her. “The Army.”

  Ah-hah. It made sense now. The posture, the mannerisms. Something about him had made her think cop, but now she realized it was the military background.

  “You served in Iraq?”

  “Afghanistan.”

  “And you came home…?”

  “Two years ago.” He snapped the kit shut, and his tone told her he didn’t want to talk about it. Maybe the transition from soldier to ranch hand hadn’t agreed with him. Holly could relate. She’d always pictured herself a painter, not a florist. But as an artist, she’d been starving, and flowers paid the bills.

  Most of the time.

  A wave of anxiety hit her. “Listen, does your phone work out here? Because I really need to call the sheriff.”

  “Like I said, they’re stretched thin tonight.”

  “I need to call my sister, too.”

  “Soon as I’m done, you can call whoever you want. You should use the landline. Cell phone coverage is spotty out here.” He dabbed at her face some more with the antiseptic and she watched the muscles of his neck move as he worked. She smelled wood and leather and a hint of male sweat. The combination was making her a little lightheaded. It had been ages since an attractive man had put his hands on her for any reason at all, and even though the reason was accidental, the situation was making her antsy.

  “You’ve got a lot of dirt in here,” he said. “What were you doing in the woods, anyway? Weather like this, you’d have been better off staying in your vehicle to wait for help.”

  “I know. But I got out to check the damage and someone started shooting.”

  He froze. “Shooting?”

  “Three shots. Two missed. Third one hit the van, and I took off.”

  “Someone shot at you.” He said it as a statement, not a question, and she could tell by his tone that he didn’t believe her.

  She eased back. “That’s why I ran.”

  “You sure they were shooting at you, and not just nearby?”

  “I’m sure.”

  His jaw tightened. He looked away and muttered something.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” He took out a butterfly bandage and positioned it on her forehead. Something had changed—she could see it in his face. He’d gone from relaxed to super-tense in about three seconds.

  He stood up. “That should do it. Phone’s by the fridge there.”

  Holly stood, too. “Thanks. I—”

  “Take all the time you need. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  She felt a jolt of panic. “Where are you going?”

  “To check something.” He pulled the keys from his pocket and moved for the door.

  “But… don’t you want your jacket back?”

  “I’m good.” He grabbed a camouflage hunting jacket off the chair and then used a key to unlock a cabinet by the door. Holly saw an array of guns. He took a pistol off a shelf and turned around. “You know how to use a handgun?”

  “Yes, but it’s been a while.”

  He held it out to her, grip out and barrel pointed toward the floor. She took the gun and tested the weight in her hand.

  “It’s loaded?”

  “Fifteen rounds.” He closed the cabinet and reached for the door. “Lock up after me,” he ordered. “And don’t aim that at anything you don’t intend to shoot.”

  Chapter Three

  Twenty minutes later, Colin hiked up the steps and stomped on the porch. He needed to get the snow off his boots and he also needed to give Holly a heads up
so he wouldn’t get his ass shot off with his own gun. He rapped on the door and it instantly swung open.

  “What’d you see?” She stepped back to let him in.

  He looked her over as he peeled off his jacket. The terrified, blue-lipped stranger he’d rescued less than an hour ago was long gone, replaced by this rosy-cheeked woman who looked totally at home in his cabin. Her dark hair was still out of control, but she’d managed to pick most of the leaves out. Without the bulky layers, he saw that she had a nice, curvy body under that T-shirt and jeans.

  “Well?”

  “No sign of a shooter,” he said. “Any brass is either gone or covered in snow.”

  “Brass?”

  “Shell casings.” He tossed his jacket on the sofa. “I saw the mark in the bumper, though. Good thing he missed.”

  “Probably because it was snowing,” she said, looking anxious. “What about my van?”

  “You’re going to need a tow.” Something smelled really good, and he glanced around. Damn, she’d made coffee. “I called a buddy of mine over at Al’s Motorworks. He’s tied up right now, but said he’d be out first thing in the morning.” Colin took a mug down from the cabinet and poured some coffee. When he turned to look at her, she was watching him and nibbling her lip.

  Clearly, she didn’t like the idea of sticking around.

  “Do you have a trailer hitch on your pickup?” she asked. “Maybe we could pull it out tonight. I could help.”

  “That’s not going to cut it. You’ve got some kind of engine trouble. The keys were inside, so I gave it a try. My guess is you busted a fuel line, plus your tire’s blown and your spare’s not worth crap.” He sipped the coffee. It was strong and hot, just like he liked it. “You get hold of the sheriff?”

  She huffed out a breath. “They patched me through to a deputy. Everyone’s busy, like you said. I’m supposed to stop by there tomorrow and file a report about the gunshots.” Her jaw tightened. “He seemed to think I was imagining things.”

  “People are pretty private around here. Maybe he thinks you were trespassing and someone tried to scare you off.”

  “That’s not what happened.”

  Colin nodded.

  “You don’t believe me either.” She folded her arms over her breasts. “I did not imagine this.”

  “I know.”

  Even if he hadn’t seen the bullet mark himself, he would have believed her. The fact that she was driving a white van on the same night as an arms deal—involving a white van—had been set to go down made her story not just possible, but probable.

  He stepped closer. She looked pissed, and now he had to un-ruffle her feathers if he was going to have a shot in hell of getting her to trust him. “You talk to your sister?”

  She nodded. “She managed to smooth things over with our client. They’re expecting my delivery by ten tomorrow. The wedding’s at noon, so it should work out.”

  Colin stared down at her. All those flowers would be dead by tomorrow.

  “Listen, Colin.”

  He braced himself. He hadn’t had a girlfriend in a while, but he remembered a thing or two about women and this one definitely wanted something.

  “I need a favor,” she said, and the warm tone of her voice made his pulse pick up.

  I’m feeling a little traumatized by my near-death experience. How about wrapping those arms around me and making me forget about it?

  Yeah, right. He already knew she wasn’t the type to sleep with some random guy she’d just met.

  “You can stay here tonight.”

  “Oh.” She looked startled. Then she flicked an uneasy glance at the sofa. “Thanks, but--”

  “There’s a guesthouse just up the hill.” He nodded at the door. “The utilities are on, and I can get the heat going for you, no problem.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate that.” She eased closer. “But there’s something else. I know it’s late, but… I really need those bouquets.”

  “Bouquets.”

  “The flowers. They’ll die in the van overnight, and if that happens I’m completely screwed.”

  He shook off the mental image that accompanied this announcement.

  “You want me to bring your flowers here?”

  “Do you mind? I’ll help you.” She gazed up at him with those baby blues.

  Did he mind? Shit, yes, he minded. He was in the middle of an op. He owed his boss a phone call and had to send out a half dozen emails tonight to get everything they were working on back on track. And now someone wanted him to spend the next hour—at least—hauling wedding flowers.

  “Please?”

  Colin gazed down at her and did what he always did when he got a request from a pretty woman.

  ***

  Holly opened her eyes and found herself staring up at a giant set of antlers mounted above a fireplace. The morning sunlight peeked through a gap in the curtains. She sat up, and pain lanced through her skull.

  “Oh my God,” she murmured, rubbing her forehead. Maybe Colin was right. Maybe she should have gone to the ER last night. But she hadn’t had time, and she didn’t have the time now, either. She checked her watch. It was after seven, which meant well past time to get up and make a plan to transport eighteen bouquets of roses to a bed-and-breakfast in White Falls.

  Holly surveyed her flowers, which surrounded the queen-size bed like a moat. They were in decent shape, considering, but she’d still need some time on the other end to spruce up the arrangements and make repairs. She’d brought a few dozen extra stems specifically for that purposes, and as she scrutinized the pink, yellow, and orange blossoms—sunset colors, per the bride’s request—she knew she was going to need every last one of them.

  Holly took a deep breath and tipped her head back. This is the day you will save your business, she told herself. She hoped it was true. She’d chanted the same mantra yesterday and barely escaped with her life.

  Holly got out of bed. The shirt and jeans she’d slept in looked… slept in, unfortunately. She wrestled into the bra she’d left on the nightstand and stuffed her feet back into Ugg boots. She grabbed her ski vest. Colin had been kind enough to lend her his jacket again, and she pulled it on over the layers. The jacket was cold, but it smelled like him, and she took a brief moment to close her eyes and savor the tantalizing man-scent that she so rarely smelled these days. Since moving out to Montana to live with her sister, Holly’s world had consisted of weddings and funerals and sweet-sixteen dances—all of which were accompanied by the scents of flowers, perfume, and hairspray. It was a feminine universe, and Colin’s jacket reminded her how much she missed men.

  She thought about Colin coming to her aid last night. She thought of the way he talked, the way he moved, the way he’d handled that gun, and she felt certain he was way more than a caretaker. In fact, she felt ninety-nine percent sure he was some kind of cop—although why he wouldn’t just tell her, she didn’t know. She planned to find out, but first, she had her own business to attend to.

  Holly opened the door to the cottage. The sky was a crisp blue. As she walked the short distance down the hill, she studied the cabin flanked by pine trees. The layer of snow made it look like a freshly iced gingerbread house. Holly hiked up the stairs and knocked on the door.

  No answer.

  She knocked again and glanced around. Her stomach tightened as she realized what was missing from the gingerbread scene. An old black pickup.

  She tried the door and found it unlocked.

  “Colin?” She glanced up at the loft. No brown head peeking up from the covers or big, manly feet dangling off the end. The bathroom door stood ajar.

  She spied a note on the table, tucked beneath a box of corn flakes.

  Had to make a run to town. Help yourself to breakfast.

  Holly checked at her watch, panicked. How long was a “run to town”? If he left her stranded here all morning, she could kiss her deadline goodbye, right along with her money.

  She glanced around and her gaze la
nded on the gun cabinet beside the door. Above it was a tidy row of hooks.

  She spotted what was there and felt a burst of hope.

  ***

  “I found three casings,” Colin said as soon as Bruce picked up the phone.

  “How the hell’d you do that?” his boss demanded. “We had four inches of snow last night.”

  “Metal detector,” Colin said, veering his truck around a patch of ice. “Borrowed it from a guy in town who does treasure hunting under the ski lifts.” “So, what do we know?”

  “Shooter set up on the shoulder, about fifty yards back, from the looks of it. I’m betting he stepped out and stood behind the engine block to take the shots.”

  “Three shots at fifty yards? Should have been a walk in the park.”

  “Maybe he wasn’t taking kill shots. Maybe he just wanted to scare off the driver and grab the load.”

  “Or maybe she saw something, and they’re trying to eliminate her.”

  Colin didn’t like the idea, but he knew it was possible. Right before her “accident,” Holly had spent half an hour at Mae’s Truck Stop, which was just across the street from the site of the handoff that never happened. Maybe the sight of her van had botched things up somehow. Or maybe she had seen something, and she just didn’t realize it. Colin had pressed her for details while they were hauling flowers, but she’d been pretty vague—not to mention preoccupied about her delivery. He got the distinct impression she was hard up for cash right now.

  Colin passed the patch of highway where less than fifteen hours ago, Holly had sailed off the road.

  “Where are they now? The shell casings?”

  “I overnighted them,” Colin said. “Look for them by ten tomorrow and run them through IBIS. If anything pops in the database, we’re going to need it in court.”

  “If you’re so sure about this, why didn’t you bring them in? You’re two hours away.”

  “Too much going on,” Colin said. “This isn’t over yet. Tempers are hot. Hooks is still out there, waiting to get paid. Lopez still doesn’t have his guns.”

  “And you’ve confirmed this?”