Zane looked down at the puffy, purple end of Joel’s right foot. “Shit. Looks bad.”
“It’s only a couple of toes. I could still run if I had to.”
Gray let his head drop back on his neck in a slow roll. “But you don’t have to. You do have to cook for all the hotel guests on a daily basis, and you refuse to use the stool I brought down for you.”
“I’ve got a busted pinkie toe, not a spurting femoral artery. You can’t make me sit on that thing like a geezer.”
Oh, yeah. If he didn’t already kind of know them, this conversation was all Zane needed to pigeonhole these guys. The macho ex-soldier who’d never let a broken leg and ribs stop him from carrying his more injured buddy ten miles to safety. And the businessman who hid his soft heart behind the corporate line. These were the kinds of guys you wanted to have your back. If he moved here. If Zane took the job. If he listened to the yearning in his gut to teach instead of the dregs of his ego pushing him to keep publishing. Turned his back on adventure, danger and a moderate amount of fame. Things he’d never wanted. Things he was pretty willing to give up...mostly.
“No, but I can’t let you run the race, either. You’ve already got a solid workers’ comp claim. Just because you’re too manly to file it doesn’t mean you won’t change your mind if you’re suddenly hobbled after running a marathon wearing a Mayhew Manor T-shirt.”
“So there’s no concern for me. You’re just looking out for the bottom line.” Joel tilted his oar and slapped water at Gray. “Skinflint.”
“Martyr.” They both grinned at each other. Then Joel thrust a hand through his black curls. “Zane, do you run?”
“Sure.”
“Want to fill the empty slot on our team?”
Huh. In town for just under two weeks and already being welcomed into the fold of everyday life. This was exactly what he was looking for in a college town. Or rather, not a town, but a community. “I’ll get the baton handed off, but I can’t guarantee how fast. I’ve never done a race.” Unless you count racing away from shotgun-wielding Korean cultists who didn’t take kindly to his line of questioning. And running hell-for-leather from machete-wielding cultists in Uganda. In those instances, Zane hadn’t stopped to measure off the five or so miles that’d be his part of the relay.
Joel batted a hand in the air, waving off his trepidation. “We’ve got a week. Plenty of time for you to slap some training miles onto the pavement. What are you doing tomorrow?”
Missing Casey. But he probably shouldn’t cop to that out loud. He’d go with the cause, rather than the effect. “Flying to Albany to drive God knows where to some resort to meet with my publisher.”
“Working more than twice in one week? Be sure to rest up well for that,” Gray mocked.
It was okay. He deserved the mocking. Just like Zane knew he deserved this break right now, after going non-stop for the last decade. “They’re pushing me pretty hard. I’ve already put in extra hours this week. The president of Hobart threw a grip and grin party to introduce me around.”
“Heard about that.” Joel jerked his chin. “Heard you met your competition.”
Zane didn’t have any competition. They’d excused the other candidates for the position once he agreed to teach the summer seminar. Could there be a dark horse, already on the faculty, that he didn’t know about? “Which teacher is it?” he demanded, hauling himself higher over the side of the boat.
“Not a teacher. The dentist. Casey’s dentist.”
Son of a bitch. He’d had a feeling there was too much history between the dull douchebag and Casey to just write off. “Pierce?”
“Pierce the Putz.” Gray spread his hands when all eyes shot to him. “That’s what Ella and Piper call him. He’s not a fan favorite.”
Yeah, but one person—the only one who mattered—evidently was a fan. “I don’t know what Casey sees in him,” grumbled Zane.
“The same thing all the women do. He’s got a toothpaste ad smile. Great hair, according to Ella. Man candy, they call him. He’s pretty.” Gray snarled the last two words like a curse.
“Pretty boring,” said Joel.
None of this changed the most important fact. The only one. That Casey left with Zane that night. That she’d spent time with him almost every day for two weeks straight. Not to sound like a feudal lord, but if possession was nine tenths of the law, then Zane had nothing to worry about. He was the one with Casey’s lips all over his. Not Pierce. Still, he needed intel, not just smack talk. “I met him. I’ll admit he rubbed me the wrong way. But I’m sure he’s no real competition?”
Gray and Joel executed the ubiquitous bad news routine of looking at him, at each other, then slowly back at him. Gray cleared his throat. “Sorry, but he is. He and Casey are...”
“What? Dating?”
A quick hand wipe through the air, as if Joel were erasing Zane’s words. “Hell, no. Friends with occasional benefits. For a while now.”
“Yeah?” Zane mentally flicked through the day dates they’d squeezed in, and the long nights they’d shared. There was no way Casey could’ve juggled any benefits with Pierce. No. Way.
“Not since you came on the scene, I’m sure. But...” Gray paused, then blew out a breath. “You should watch your back. Know he’s out there, maybe painting a target on your back. We like you better than Pierce.”
Joel snorted. “We like that gull taking a dump on the bow better than we like Pierce.”
“I’m touched.” Zane still wasn’t worried. Not really. “From what I can tell, Casey isn’t shy about stating what she wants. Or doing whatever it takes to get it.” There’d been her insistence on extra dressing for her salad that sent the waitress back twice to the kitchen. The story about how in college she’d taken an entire semester of microeconomics—as an elective—just to nab a finance major with a tongue piercing and a full sleeve of tats. “If she wanted to get serious with Pierce, it’d be a done deal by now.”
“You’re probably right.” Gray took a long pull from a water bottle.
Zane was way past done hearing about Pierce. “Tell me about this race. You said it’s to raise money for the town. Does that mean I need to pony up a fat entry fee?”
“A lot of racers get sponsors. But I’m guessing you can afford to front it all yourself with the way your books fly off the shelves.”
“For a good cause, sure.” Zane didn’t want to move to a town about to go bankrupt. Between the insurance money and this fundraiser, he believed this messed-up situation could be reversed. He was happy to pitch in. “How’s the whole investigation going?” It felt easier to ask these guys than to get too deeply into it with Casey. She’d mentioned a few times how upset and guilt-stricken her stepmother was. Casey couldn’t figure out how to cheer her up. That weighed heavily on her shoulders. Which he hated to see.
“There’s a lot the FBI refuses to tell us. But they’re communicating with the local police.”
Small town communication meant one thing. Well, not just towns. Small companies, families, cults or towns—they were all the same. A hotbed for gossip. Impossible to maintain radio silence on anything at the best of times. And in this town? Where they kept a freaking journal to share their secrets with one another? It didn’t take his PhD to connect the dots.
Raising his eyebrows, Zane asked, “Do they have loose lips, by any chance?”
“Looser than the tap on a keg at a frat party. The FBI managed to track the couple who stole the money to the West Coast.”
“You mean they were too stupid to even leave the country? Yeah, you’re getting that money back, no problem.”
“Well, I wouldn’t call it a slam dunk. But we’re hopeful. And the insurance process is going smoothly. All things considered.”
Joel threw his leg over the side to stick his swollen toes in the cool water. His hands
fisted in his lap. “Depends on who you ask. To the grudge-holding asswipes who blame Dawn, every day that goes by without every cent of that money back in the town coffers is the end of the world. No matter how much Ella loaned us and the insurance’ll kick in for eventually.”
If Zane were a dog—and if he was one, he’d be a basset hound, ’cause those long ears cracked him up—he’d lift his head and wag his tail at Joel’s pronouncement. God, he loved figuring people out. And Joel had just revealed another huge tell. That level of anger? In defense of Dawn? Just like the first night at Mayhew Manor when Zane accused him of having a date with the mayor, this was as good as a smoking gun to a keen observer of behavior. How did no one else see it? “Madam Mayor’s having a rough time of it. But with friends like you, she’ll pull through.”
Gray’s hands lifted, then just circled emptily in the air. “We try. She takes it all so personally. Like she’s the one who let the town down.”
“Instead of putting the blame on the actual dirtbags who stole the money and did a snow job on us,” Joel snarled. He slapped at the water with the oar again, this time sending spray all over Zane.
Seeing as how he was submerged in the lake anyway, it shouldn’t matter. Still. A line had to be drawn. “Hey. Save the oar-thumping for the people who actually deserve it,” he remonstrated.
“Sorry.” A look of chagrin washed over Joel’s face. He yanked the oar back into the boat. “That was out of line. I’m sure if you stick around long enough, you’ll say something to deserve it, but not today.”
“You headed in? Want to have lunch?” offered Gray.
“Lunch with the executive chef and the manager? Only an idiot would turn that down.” Zane grabbed for his mask. “Casey’s got plenty of great attributes, don’t get me wrong.” Even thinking about them for a few seconds put a smile on Zane’s face. Her laugh, her bluntness that came out at the oddest times, the gray flecks that made her green eyes sparkle like they were dusted with moonlight. “But last night, when she got home late, Casey fed me macaroni and cheese out of a box. I’m okay eating like that in a desert encampment. Not in upstate New York, three hours away from some of the finest restaurants in the world.”
“Food snob.”
“I’ve been called much, much worse and still turned the other cheek.” Zane circled his hand overhead and pointed to shore. “Race ya!”
* * *
Casey hurried down the path to the lake’s edge. She’d snuck out of work early in order to carve out the time to write in the mailbox journal before meeting Zane for dinner. And whatever happened after dinner. Which usually encompassed enough kisses to drive her crazy. She hadn’t made out to this extent in years. The delayed gratification was fun. Sort of. Until she was alone in her bed in the middle of the night, thoroughly unsatisfied.
But the whole not rounding third base aspect made sense. Zane remained intent on romancing her. She’d discovered a single sprig of lavender on the windshield of her car this morning. The night before he’d rubbed her feet. And that morning he’d met her for coffee at Cosgroves and brought along a sunny bouquet of daisies for Dawn. Just because she’d made the offhand comment that she couldn’t remember her stepmother ever getting flowers.
It was impossible not to like him. Casey was discovering it was almost impossible—for her—not to fall head over heels for him. Even though that would be stupid. Reckless. Because she could only let Zane into her life so far. There’d always be a secret between them. One he didn’t even know existed. That was a lousy, shaky foundation for a relationship.
So Casey told herself this was a summer fling. After all, he might not even stay and take the job at Hobart. Huh. Life was topsy-turvy when the best case scenario was to have the boyfriend you adored move away in two months. It’d be a great two months, though. She’d given herself permission to enjoy every single, precious moment with Zane. Which was the reason for her hasty trip to write in the journal.
The ringtone Zane had selected for himself—the old school “Sledgehammer”—gave her a little jolt. He couldn’t know she was here. No reason to worry.
“Hi.” Her voice curved the word into a smile. Just talking to him made Casey’s heart flutter like a butterfly breaking free of its cocoon. Which was too girly a thought for her to stand. Undeniable, however.
“Hey, beautiful. I was thinking about you. Couldn’t resist picking up the phone.”
“What were you thinking?” Zane had a great imagination. He’d woven her a story last night about a star that came to earth and turned into a dandelion, far happier to be ordinary than to burn brightly. It was funny and sweet...and didn’t require much analysis at all to see that it was really about him giving up his limo-riding fame.
“I wondered if you ever wrote in the mailbox journal.”
Casey halted on the path. Barely resisted the urge to look up and around for hidden cameras in the trees. “Why?”
“I’m over at the nursing home, interviewing Bert Kiggins. He’s ninety-seven, so I thought he’d have an interesting take on how freely the town has used the journal over the last half century. How important it is, how many people actually fill it with their innermost questions and thoughts and honestly believe it’ll stay anonymous.”
If all this research wasn’t focused on her, Casey would’ve been impressed by his approach. “We don’t run handwriting analysis on the entries. There’s no carbon copy that shoots over to the FBI.”
“I guess I’m still trying to wrap my mind around why anyone would risk putting any part of the Lone Survivor’s secret into such a public thing as that journal.”
Casey knew it was unusual. Outsiders didn’t always appreciate their tradition. They didn’t see the freedom in its anonymity, or the inherent trust that ran between the writer and the commenters when you shared your secrets in its pages. Cautiously, she asked, “What did Bert say?”
“Sharp old guy. Told me a bunch of stories from the decades. But when I asked about the Sunshine Seekers entry, Bert clammed up. Said it was an IOU that had been paid in full, so there was no reason to go into details.”
Casey gave a booty shake of relief, topped off by a few shimmies. “I’m sorry you didn’t get the answer you wanted.”
“Not a problem. I’ve barely begun digging. But it did make me wonder if you use it.”
“Of course.”
“Why?”
This was her chance to try and make him understand. “It’s like having a diary that talks back. Sometimes friends and family are too close, too biased to give good advice. Or you don’t want to believe that they’re right. The anonymity of the journal gives another viewpoint. We don’t see it as wide open to the public. We all see it as a very private confidence that none of us would ever break.”
“Huh. You’re all in it, so that almost forces you to keep the secrets, so others will do the same for you. Like an emotional isometric exercise. That’s a powerful bond you’ve all woven. Admirable.”
“You probably won’t get far with your interviews,” she warned.
“No faith in my miraculous ability to make people talk? That’s okay. You wouldn’t be the first. But believe me, I always find a way to get the information. Always. Wait and watch and be amazed.”
Exactly what she was afraid of. His cocky promise made her need to write an entry even more urgent. “Uh, Zane? I have to run.”
“Of course. Sorry to interrupt you at work. See you soon, buttercup.” He hung up before Casey was forced to lie about still being at work. Which was good. One big lie was enough guilt for her to handle. Casey didn’t want to compound it with any other lies to Zane, no matter how small.
She rounded the last tree. Didn’t bother to take a moment to enjoy the view, because this was a popular spot with locals and tourists alike. Casey had to get this done before anyone happened by to put their own two cents into the jou
rnal. Just yanked open the mailbox door and pulled out the big book. Casey sat on the bench. Pulled a pen out of her tight braid and tapped it against her teeth. Writing a plea to the entire town sounded good in theory. Figuring out what to say, especially without giving away her identity for all those who weren’t in the know, was a tricky problem.
Opening to a fresh page, she doodled a circle in the margin. Then another, and then five more. Joined them together into a flower. Back in school, Casey drew the loopy flowers all over her papers and folders. Ella liked to draw hearts on hers. And Piper kept focused and took the excellent notes they all shared over cookies and milk after school. Kinda summed them all up in a nutshell. Nature girl, the mushy romantic, and the one who bent over backward to be perfect. Casey wondered if anyone official had tried to analyze people from their doodles. Something to ask Zane at dinner tonight. If he didn’t know the answer, they’d have fun tracking it down together.
Aaaand, she was stalling. She started to write:
Years ago, many of you banded together. Vowed to keep a secret to protect a child you’d never met. Even though we never spoke of it, I’ve always been grateful. You’ve done a rocking job so far. Just don’t run your mouth off to the charming and inquisitive Dr. Buchanan.
That was horrible. Stilted. Clunky. Insulting. She should scratch it out. Or just rip out the whole page. Of course, if she did that, she might keep screwing up and rip out half the journal. People would notice. Instead, she focused on a tall hemlock. Pretended it was a person. Gordon MacClain. He was tall and bushy, just like the tree. And this time, she spoke the words out loud to test if they were worth writing down.
“I should’ve thanked you a long time ago for keeping my secret. Not just mine, but Dawn’s, too. The Sunshine Seekers pretended to be my family. Insisted, really, but I knew it wasn’t true. When Dawn rescued me, she brought me here, to all of you who became the best family a girl could ever want. We trusted you with our secret.”
“You damn well did not.” Ward’s low rumble burned a hot breath right past her ear.
All for You Page 14
