by Becki Willis
“Are you asleep over there?” he queried.
She didn’t bother opening an eye. “Would be, if you’d quit talking.”
“Pardon me,” he chuckled.
She made it sound like such a good idea, he decided to try it for himself. The sun slipped further away, casting soft shadows into the twilight, and they both drifted into a peaceful state of unconcern.
The leg of Hannah’s chair sank further into the sand, pressing against the soft earth with slow and gradual descent. The transition was so faint she never noticed the shift. When it finally gave way, the chair turned sideways and dumped her, unceremoniously, upon the sandy bank. She went down with a loud ‘plop!’ and a startled yelp.
The ruckus jarred Walker from a peaceful daze. “Hannah! Are you all right?”
He scrambled to sit upright, but his long legs tangled with the shorter legs of the folding camp chair. It began to collapse with him, spilling him into the sand beside her. He tried to avoid the collision, but his right side came down hard upon her.
“Ow! Get off me, you big oaf!” she complained, pushing at him to move.
But as they both began to laugh, their efforts became clumsy. Combined with the effects of the wine and the lazy trance that fogged their senses, their leaden limbs refused to cooperate. They collapsed into a tangled heap, laughing and winded, and both too dazed, or too comfortable, to move.
“Wh—What happened?” Walker finally managed to ask.
“My—My chair!” Hannah laughed too hard to make sense. “Sand. Fell. Pl—Plop!”
Another round of hoots, another hilarious attempt to pull apart. Another surrender to laughter.
Walker finally managed to move off her, his body angled to lie in the sand beside her. His hand was still slung over her waist.
“What a rude awakening!”
Hannah could feel the laughter in his voice. It echoed along her entire body, pressed against him as she was. She turned to make a smart remark, only to find his face was mere inches from her own.
His blue eyes darkened, as the air between them stilled. Maybe neither of them moved. Maybe they both did. A magnetic force pulled between them, drawing them together. Walker’s eyes dropped to her mouth, his intentions to kiss her quite clear within the darkening blue depths. Hannah watched his lips part, felt the warmth of his breath against her face as he leaned in. She felt her body kindle and come alive, arching toward him as it took on a mind and spirit of its own. Her mouth watered, anticipating his kiss.
No! her mind screamed, and not a moment too soon.
Hannah pushed up and away, banging her shoulder into his face in the process. As she crawfished backward and put a safe distance between them, Walker howled in pain and nursed his busted nose.
“What in the—” He bit back the curse as blood dripped into his hand. “You busted my nose!”
“You tried to kiss me!” she accused.
He gave her a dark look over his cupped palm. “A simple no would have been sufficient,” he told her dryly.
“How dare you! How dare you just sit there, acting so nonchalant? What would Mrs. Jacoby say about what you just did?” Hannah demanded.
He looked at her as if she spoke Italian, a language he didn’t understand. “What does she have to do with this?”
“What! Oh! Oh, you—you—you cad!” Steam all but came from her ears. In her fury, Hannah scooped up a handful of sand and flung it at him.
“And you are the orneriest woman I have ever known! I try to kiss you, and first you bust my nose, then you throw sand in my eyes. What is wrong with you?”
“Wrong with me! Wrong with me? You’re the one who has no business kissing me! You’re the one with a wife at home!” She flung the words as violently as she had flung the sand.
Walker grew perfectly still. The look on his face was pained.
“Hannah.” Something in the gravel of his voice made her look up. Made her listen. “I’m not married.”
She lost some of her starch. “It’s okay, Walker. I know,” she told him quietly. She was suddenly very weary. She had been fighting this for an entire week, this unhealthy attraction toward him. It was almost a relief, getting it all out in the open. It was hard to fight demons that hid in the closet. Best to meet them head on, and attack. “I figured it out. You and your wife are going through a rough patch, and you need a place to stay, a place that gives you both the space you need. I get it. But this—” she waved her hand in the few feet that separated them “—this isn’t going to happen.”
“Hannah,” he said, voice deceptively calm, “there’s something you need to know.”
She held up a stalling hand. “In my book, separated is the same as married.”
“Agreed.” He wiped at his nose, saw no blood, and hesitantly lowered his hand. With the other hand, he scrubbed the back of his neck, avoiding her eyes. “The thing is…” His blue eyes finally met hers. “Hannah,” he said slowly. “I am not, nor have I ever been, married.”
Was he speaking German? She saw his lips moving, but the words didn’t make sense.
“But… who’s Mrs. Jacoby?” she asked in confusion. “That first day I met you, you said, ‘Mrs. Jacoby’ was of a like mind as me, in that she didn’t need a man to make decisions for her.”
“And she doesn’t,” he agreed in quick time. “My mother is a strong, independent woman, just like you.”
“Your—Your mother?”
“Yes, the woman married to my father. That makes her Mrs. Jacoby. Mrs. Sarah Jacoby, to be exact, wife of Andrew Jacoby.”
If he expected to see relief in her eyes, he was sadly mistaken. Her blue eyes kindled with ire. Once again, she fisted a handful of dirt, but this time when she threw it, it was in the opposite direction, although with equal force.
“Argh!” she bit out her displeasure. “All this time, you let me think you were a married man! Let me berate myself, for being attracted to you! Do you know what you’ve put me through? You’re… You’re despicable!” she spat.
He had the grace to hang his head in shame. Until that moment, Hannah hadn’t noticed that the sun was completely down. In its place, a full moon hung in the sky, doubly bright as it bounced off the waters. When Walker raised his head again, she had no trouble seeing his face, and the pained expression upon it.
“I didn’t know you thought I was married. Honest. But yes, I do know what you’ve been going through. I’ve been going through the same thing.”
When she frowned in confusion, he explained, “You were right, Hannah. This—” he waved his hand between them, just as she had done moments ago “—can’t happen. You’re my client. It would jeopardize our professional relationship and perhaps my ability to make impartial and sound business decisions on your behalf. Exploring our attraction to one another wouldn’t be wise.”
Although she agreed with what he said, it still hurt to hear the words, particularly when he said them with such a formal air.
“I couldn’t agree more.” She forced the words to come out naturally, hoping they didn’t sound as brittle as they felt.
“Good. I’m glad we’ve cleared that up.”
“Me, too.”
They sat in awkward silence, each studying an opposite line of sight, until Hannah finally spoke, her voice small. “I’m sorry about your nose.”
“If I really were a married man, I would have deserved as much, and more.”
She pointed out the obvious. “But you aren’t really a married man.”
“And for that, I apologize. Not for being single, but for any misunderstanding between us in that regard.”
Hannah waved her hand dismissively. “Water under the bridge. And if my stupid chair hadn’t collapsed, I’d be none the wiser.”
Even in the moonlight, she could see his mouth twitch in humor. “You have to admit, that was pretty funny. One minute you were all but snoring, the next you were lying there in the sand, like a forgotten rag doll.”
She raised her nose and snif
fed. “I do not snore.”
“Sure sounded like it to me.”
“Humph! How dare you!” Her words lacked heat. She tossed another handful of sand, this one to land harmlessly on his jean-clad thigh.
He brushed it carelessly away. When his eyes met hers, they both broke out in laughter, recalling those earlier moments in the sand. By the time the laughter died away, a tentative truce had formed between them.
“So, tell me more about Hannah Duncan.”
“What’s to tell? I thought I had a bright and lucrative career as a senior assistant in one of the top investment firms in the state, if not the country. I couldn’t have been more wrong.”
“And before you were a senior assistant?”
Her brow knitted together as she tried to remember a time before she worked for Lawrence, Schuster, and McMahon Investments. “I guess I was in high school, working for Duncan Drilling. When I was in college, David Lawrence gave me an internship at the firm, and I never left.” Hannah drew a pattern in the sand with her fingers. “That makes me sound awfully boring.”
“Or awfully dedicated. That’s a rare trait these days, Hannah.”
“For all the good it did me.”
“So, what about you? Have you ever been married?”
“Who had time for marriage?” She scoffed at herself. “I barely had time to attend my friends’ weddings. All of them, by the way, are now married. I’m the odd woman out.”
“I know what you mean. Most of my friends are married, engaged, or recently divorced. I’m basically the same thing. Odd man out.”
Hannah pursed her lips and pretended to sulk. “Well, aren’t we the sorry lot?”
They engaged in idle chitchat, enjoying the night air that played around them. Walker poured them more wine and they resurrected their chairs, making certain the feet were firmly planted in the edge of the grass. They faced the pond, both enjoying the same view this time, and peacefully so.
After a while, Hannah made a quiet announcement. “I’ve decided to stay.”
He looked at her in surprise. “There was a doubt? You have almost two full weeks whipped. You’re doing great.”
“I don’t mean just through the thirty days. I mean I’ve decided to stay, permanently. I have some ideas I’d like to implement for the property. To help it grow and be more successful.”
“That’s great.”
“You don’t sound very convincing. I thought you’d be pleased.”
“I am.”
His strained reply stung. They may have agreed not to have a personal relationship, but she had hoped for some sort of friendship, at the very least.
“Stick with your lawyer gig,” she advised dryly. “You’d make a terrible actor.”
“It’s not that. I’m really glad you’re thinking in terms of the future, Hannah, and that you’re planning to stay.”
By now, she was clearly agitated, and she didn’t mind letting him know. “I hear a definite ‘but’ in your voice.”
Walker’s internal struggle was obvious. He warred with himself for a long moment before he released a sigh and scrubbed the back of his neck. Hannah was quickly coming to dread that particular telltale action.
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you, Hannah…”
Before he could continue, Leroy shot to his feet and barked. He faced the direction of the inn, his entire body on alert.
“What’s up, boy? What do you hear?” Walker asked.
The shaggy white beast ran forward, only to return a few moments later, barking excessively.
“What it is, Leroy?”
The dog growled and moved forward again. When he stopped and turned back to see if they followed, they knew something was wrong.
“Okay, Leroy. We’re coming. Go get ‘em, boy. We’re right behind you.”
Chapter Fifteen
Leroy raced ahead of the truck. By the time Walker and Hannah caught up with him, he had his huge paws on the front door, demanding inside.
“Do you think it’s Everett Tinker?” Hannah all but breathed the worry aloud.
“Maybe you should stay here in the truck.”
Her eyes went wide with fear. “Not on your life.”
“Hannah.” Walker’s tone was sharp.
“Two is always better than one,” she reasoned. She nodded toward Leroy as he continued his ruckus. “He’s scratching the door. Let’s go see what’s wrong.”
Walker led the way, with Hannah close upon his heels. Leroy whined in appreciation as Walker reached for the handle, thanking him in dog-speak for believing. They proceeded through the first door, only to repeat the process again in the foyer. With a motion of his head for Hannah to stay behind him, Walker twisted the handle, eased open the door, and stood back as Leroy burst into the great room, ready for attack. Barking so loud the sound echoed, he made a beeline toward the little inner office, entering through the check-in desk. Before Walker and Hannah could follow, the excited white dog dashed through the opposite door, into the back hallway.
“That door was closed.” Hannah put a cautioning hand on Walker’s arm, her whisper urgent. “I know it was.”
“Stay here. Call 9-1-1.”
She shook her head. “I’m following you. And I left my phone in the truck.”
Met with another door, Leroy reared up, trying to scratch his way through. Walker used the tail of his shirt to turn the knob. He tried to preserve any prints that might be on it. Leroy disappeared into the night, hot on the trail of a scent only he could detect.
“Whoever was in here is gone now,” Walker reasoned.
“We should go back in. There could have been two of them.”
“Maybe, but neither are in there now. Leroy would have known.”
A fracas erupted somewhere near the goat pen. Startled from their sleep, the herd voiced their displeasure. Bleats and baas rent the night air.
“What is all that?” Hannah cried.
Walker turned his ear toward the racket. “I think you were right. I think there were two of them. From the sounds of it, one of them stumbled into first the goat pen, and then the chicken coop. And if that yelp and big splash I heard is any indication, I think the other one just found the creek.”
A nervous giggle escaped as a mental picture popped into her head. “Oh my.”
Walker shook his dark head. “That’s not the word he used.”
His expression was so solemn, his deadpan delivery so well done, Hannah couldn’t help it. Nerves made the situation so much funnier than was warranted. Laughter burst from her chest, despite the serious situation.
To his credit, Walker tried not to laugh. A tight smile played around his lips as he concentrated on a scowl. “We should call the authorities. And we should see if anything was taken. Don’t touch anything but get a visual on what they may have been doing.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone, punching in a number.
“You have Tracey Ann’s number on speed dial?” she teased, still on a nervous high.
“Yeah. 9-1-1.” As the dispatcher picked up, he spoke calmly into the phone. “This is Walker Jacoby. I’m here at the Spirits in Hannah, and I want to report a prowler and a possible break-in. I think there were two perpetrators, both of which are no longer on the immediate property. One may possibly be hiding in the chicken coop out back.”
By the time the sheriff’s department arrived, Hannah had taken stock of the situation at hand. Someone had been in the office, all right, and made a mess of it. Files were scattered all over the desk and dropped onto the floor. Pictures were off the wall and most everything was upended. The ledgers were intact but opened, every one of them scattered around the room.
“They were obviously looking for something,” a young deputy stated the obvious.
“But what?” Hannah fretted.
“Lots of folks, ‘specially the older ones, hide money and important papers. Tape it to the bottoms of drawers and on the backs of picture frames. Used to be a safe bet, bu
t nowadays that’s the first place a thief looks.” The second deputy pointed to the ram-shackled room as case in point.
“Any other rooms disturbed?” his partner asked.
“Pictures off the walls in the great room,” Hannah reported. “And you saw the check-in desk. It looks the same as this.” Her sigh was weary. It would take hours to put it back into some semblance of order. Perhaps days.
“And they raided the refrigerator,” Walker announced as he rejoined the group.
“Again?”
At Hannah’s exasperated cry, the deputies went on alert. Deputy House, the older of the two, looked particularly concerned. “This has happened before? Say, didn’t we have a call out here a few days ago? It was 10-22’d before I could get here, but wasn’t it something about an intruder?”
“It… I think it was a misunderstanding,” Hannah tried to explain. “There was a man.”
“The one calling himself Everett Tinker?”
“No, another man. I thought he was a beggar, but then I realized he was wearing a costume. He obviously works at the history farm that is such a well-guarded secret around here. Honestly, I don’t know how they expect to get—”
“Hannah,” Walker broke in. There was a warning in his voice, and in the sharp look he sent her. She detected an ever-so-slight shake of his head, cautioning her to stop. Stop her rant, she wondered, or the whole subject of Orlan Varela?
“You were saying?” Deputy House prompted.
“Leroy didn’t bark, so I realized he must know him. I told the dispatcher it was a mistake and made the man a sandwich.” It wasn’t the exact chain of events, but close.
“But you said ‘again,’ as if someone had raided the refrigerator before.”
She shot Walker a look. “Some pork chops came up missing. I thought Walker ate them as a midnight snack.”
“Wait. You two…?” This from Deputy Tedford. He wagged his finger between them, a smirk upon his face.
“No.” Walker’s barked denial was sharp enough to sting. It bit right into Hannah’s pride, as he went on to explain, “Miss Duncan is my client. She’s new to the area, and to the country lifestyle, in fact, having lived in Houston most of her life. To put her at ease, I have been staying here at the inn until the Tanners return from their cruise.”
