by Juliet Chase
Without permission, her mind conjured up his grey eyes laughing at her, and the rather sexy twist to his lips when he bit back a grin. He struck her as an odd combination of things that shouldn’t go together: the massive truck carrying primroses, courthouse sleek with laid-back rural boy that just stopped by, those silver eyes…
She stopped herself there. She didn’t need to compound the Daniel mistake with someone trying to twist Gran’s arm into compliance, or worse, put her in jail. Besides, he definitely seemed the sort that wouldn’t be short of female companionship. He was probably married to someone with the same high energy and they made up the town’s perfect power couple. Or maybe she’d been spending too much time with bad movie scripts, because that did sound rather like the one she’d finished before taking on the diary fiasco. She fretted at remembering how far behind she was. Anyway, she’d had enough of good-looking, confident men. Maybe someday she’d find a nice, quiet introvert—a teacher, maybe, or an accountant. Certainly not a smartass attorney with an overdose of… of… whatever that was he was exuding when he was laughing at her.
While the washing machine ran, she forced herself to turn her attention to investigating Gran’s escape trail. She started in the kitchen, since she was there already. Only old grocery lists on the fridge, check. Unless there was a hidden meaning behind filter refills? Probably not. She turned her attention to the stack of different-sized paper on the corner of the counter shoved into the space between the wall and the coffeemaker. A few gardening catalogs and a copy of Mini Cow Monthly were on the top, then five unopened envelopes from the county and a folded map of Washington and British Columbia. She left the official mail sealed but opened up the map, battling the large piece of paper in the very small kitchen. It looked well used, but she couldn’t see any highlighted routes to indicate where Gran and Walt had run off to. She refolded it and stuffed the stack back where it had come from. She tossed the recently acquired business cards on top of it all. She was still debating if she was going to call Mr. Attorney back or not, but she was leaning toward “not.”
It didn’t take long to search the entire cottage, at least on the surface. The only thing that was noteworthy was what wasn’t there. There was a foot-long space in the bedroom closet that suggested clothes had been grabbed in a hurry, no toothbrush or hairbrush in the bathroom and a laptop-size space in the dust on the desk in the living room. Hmmm. Was Gran holed up somewhere with her laptop? Checking email? As soon as she had five minutes, she’d have to see if she could get on Gran’s network and fire something pithy off—okay, perhaps not too pithy if she wanted an answer back. Gran was the sort that would take her grandkids to her jujitsu class instead of baking cupcakes. She was not what anyone would ever describe as passive.
In her survey through the kitchen, Tess was reminded yet again that there was very little food in the house. A trip to the grocery store was in order to round out what she’d brought with her. She glanced at the clock on the stove—just three p.m., and the cows, according to Mike, would expect milking around five, so maybe she had better get a move on. “Come on, Daisy! Car.”
Despite their long car trip from the day before, Daisy was up with her nose on the door before Tess finished talking. She locked up and they headed out. Tess knew there was a quicker back way into town that was much more direct, but she wasn’t sure how to navigate it. Without the web or a cell connection to guide her, she chose to go back to the highway and then continue into town from where it was clearly marked. It would take longer, but she’d save herself the hassle of being totally lost in a strange location. Maybe she could find a local map at the store.
The stacks of the oil refineries were belching steam that merged seamlessly with the pale sky above as she came into view of Highway 20. The rain was holding off, but that didn’t mean the sun was planning on making an appearance. The tide was out and the mudflats stretched into the distance, making everything look brown and rather dreary. Container ships were anchored out beyond, looking heavy and lifeless. It seemed strange to see such an industrial landscape in an otherwise rural, relaxed setting, where traffic only really happened when the state ferry unloaded. Luckily for Tess, Anacortes was pretty much laid out along a central drag, and she quickly found a grocery store with a gas station nearby. Daisy woofed at a seagull checking out the overflowing garbage can at the corner, but the bird took no notice, carefully selecting a discarded French fry instead. Daisy whined a bit, but apparently decided it wasn’t going to happen, and gave up.
It didn’t take Tess long to fill a cartful of essentials, dog food and emergency supplies of ice cream and wine. There was a surprisingly good selection for such a small town, but she kept it simple and cheap. She had a bad feeling this was going to take more than a few days to sort out, and her bank account was getting uncomfortably low. Maybe she really should move to the Midwest and take up a practical career, like data entry. Or maybe she could be a trucker, with Daisy as her bodyguard. She briefly entertained the thought of tooling down the highway in a big rig, but came back to reality while trying to decide what her radio handle would be. Maybe she should just deal with her immediate problems for now and save the big ones for later.
She carried her grocery bags back to the car and looked longingly at the cute little restaurants lining the street. Many of them had tiny fenced-off patios extending out on the sidewalk, and people were already out enjoying a leisurely late lunch in the spring sun. Everyone seemed to be on vacation or moving at vacation pace. Relaxed, with no big concerns beyond what to order or chatting with an old friend. Tess watched two cars traveling in opposite directions actually stop in the middle of the road so the drivers could talk for a minute. Now that was life in the slow lane. But the cows were calling, probably literally if she could hear that far. On the off chance, she checked her phone where it was sitting charging on the seat median. Two bars!
The cows were just going to have to wait five minutes. She had ten missed calls—all from her mother. She hit redial on one of them and waited. The answering machine kicked in. Damn. “Mom, it’s me, Tess. You’ll have to call Gran’s phone, I don’t have any reception there. But listen, things are really bad. There’s at least a hundred cows.” She mentally excused the exaggeration as being acceptable when dealing with the person that landed you in the mess. “There’s an attorney involved, and animal control. There’s absolutely no sign of Gran, and I’m stuck milking all day. You’ve got to do something!” She didn’t bother listening to the messages; she could pretty much guess what her mom had to say. Instead she headed back toward Gran’s house and the madness of a barn full of miniature cows.
Nate read the summary paragraph that introduced the fifty-page document for the fifth time. He needed to get through these files today if he was going to be ready for that sewage meeting tomorrow. That was one of the main reasons why he was working from home. But it didn’t seem to be helping him get through the stack of files.
The house was eerily quiet, something he’d never really noticed before. Silence was a good thing, usually. Except now it almost seemed he could hear the house breathe. Which was silly, because he’d lived in this house for most of his life. When Dad died five years ago he’d bought Mom out so she could go live in a condo in town near the waterfront and not have the maintenance of this place. He was sitting in his original bedroom, renovated into a high-tech home office. The slim silver case of his laptop promised lightweight speed, and extra monitors and a wireless keyboard all delivered on efficiency. It was the personal space of an established, successful attorney with all the trappings. Except that the fresh coat of paint hadn’t completely obscured the fighter jet he’d drawn on the ceiling in permanent marker when he was ten. Staring up at the faint outline now, he still thought he’d done a pretty good job.
There was a clock ticking somewhere downstairs that he’d also never noticed before. When had he acquired a non-digital clock? Must have been something Tiffany had added when she went on that spending spree—for a
mbiance or something crazy like that. He was tempted to go and find it, put it out of its misery. Distractions weren’t going to get this job done any faster, however. He forced himself back to the paperwork on odor control and water dispersion. That worked for about five minutes.
He eyed his cell phone sitting on the corner of the desk. Should he call her? And say what? Better not if he couldn’t even decide that. He could tell her she had great legs. He grinned just thinking about it. She’d been so flustered and yet prepared to brazen it out. When he talked to her he wanted to watch her face, see if he could tease her into a smile. He propped his feet up on the corner of the desk and went back to the sewage paperwork with a cheerful whistle.
She never did call him.
By the time Tess was done taking care of the animals for the evening, it was well after seven. She had debated calling Nate as he’d instructed, but what if she was right and he was married with 2.5 kids and she interrupted their dinner? Or he wasn’t married but out on a power date with some model-thin female attorney? Plus she was tired, and she didn’t want to hear how Gran was a budding criminal facing the full extent of the law. Gran needed to hear it, not her. If Nate really wanted to talk to her, he could call here or come by or whatever. He obviously knew the way. It was about time she started showing a little confidence and leadership herself. Damn it.
She stared at the phone on the end table, wondering if he had even noticed that she hadn’t called. Probably not, she decided before uncurling her legs from the couch and wandering into the kitchen to decide on dinner. Pizza or spaghetti?
Either way it required red wine, so she started by opening a bottle of the Shiraz she’d found on sale. She sipped and pondered. Pizza would be faster, but for that very reason she might need it later in a pinch. She decided to save it for a worse day that was probably coming soon. Opening the cupboard to find a pan for the spaghetti, she was astounded at how many Gran had managed to stack in there. Aiming for the small one at the top, she slightly miscalculated and brought the one down below it as well. It came loose and hit her on the forehead before crashing into the stove and then the floor. Daisy came rushing in barking at full speed. Tess rubbed her forehead and wondered what she’d done to bring so much disruption into her life so suddenly. Oh yeah, she’d asked for change.
“It’s all right, Dais, you can go back to the couch.” But Daisy just stood there her ears tilted slightly and her eyes telegraphing concern. Tess was glad for the sympathy, or at least she thought that was what it was, as she reached down to get the pan. She felt her forehead throb in response to the change in blood flow. She put the extra pan on the counter. No point in courting disaster by trying to return it to the hodgepodge in the cupboard. Finally she managed to get water in the intended one and set it on the stove. She topped off her glass of wine and let the taste of the plummy alcohol soothe her jangled nerves. She was considering how best to proceed with her investigation, but came up blank. Gran clearly had left with a plan but hadn’t clued anyone else into it.
She ate dinner in the tiny kitchen and found herself self-consciously eating the simple pasta and red sauce faster then she wanted to, and hyper-aware of the phone where she’d left it, ten feet away in the living room. There was no denying the spaghetti was bland, and she was nervous. Her closed laptop mocked her from the other side of the table, reminding her that she had yet to get back to it for work that actually paid money.
Needing space from both inanimate objects, she put her dishes in the sink and called Daisy. In the flickering twilight they headed down the path to the lake for the first time since their arrival. Small patches of charming daffodils dotted the hillside leading down from the cottage to the water. It was a well-trodden path, but the beach was small and private. Daisy was clearly thrilled when she got to the quiet shoreline, so different from the rolling surf of the ocean at home, and dove straight in, looking back expectantly for a stick to come her way. Tess indulged her until she could tell Daisy was tiring. In between throws she took the time to soak in the peaceful scenery and the still water.
Maple trees were just starting to unfurl electric-green leaves among the darker evergreens that dominated the landscape. And the water was completely still, with the exception of Daisy’s antics. Gran was lucky to have found this place, Tess decided. There were fancier places along the saltwater, but they were crammed in cheek by jowl because of the more expensive real estate.
Heading back to the house, Tess felt her shoulders start to come back down to their normal level, instead of tensed up around her ears. If this part were happening on a real vacation, she’d be in heaven.
When she got back to the cottage, the message light on the phone was blinking. She deliberated while twisting a strand of hair around her finger. Should she get the message or messages? No, not tonight—she’d had enough new problems and stress for the day. Whoever they were, they could just wait until morning.
She flipped the simple deadbolt on the kitchen door and turned off overhead lights as she went to the back of the house and the tiny guest room. It was a cozy cottage with views out the back of the lake and evergreen-shrouded hills beyond. The cottage’s one little guest room barely had space for a twin-sized day bed and a chair, but everything was in welcoming shades of green and lavender. It made Tess think of the bedroom she’d wanted but never got as a teenager. She’d managed to fit Daisy’s bed in the corner in front of the closet door. She flipped on the bedside reading light and put her stack of notebooks and pens on the nightstand before getting under the lavender-scented covers. She felt reassured by the very coziness of the room; it was like a comforting hug. Daisy came padding in and lay down on her dog bed with a groan. They both knew she’d be up on Tess’s bed before the night was out, but Daisy liked to have her own space to start with.
Tess was tempted to turn the light off again and just close her eyes. But she forced herself to stay focused. She’d indulged her lazy side too much in the past few months. It was time to tackle her big plan to have a plan. Starting with a list… or two. She grabbed a pen and a legal pad. Where to start? Places she really wanted to live—she’d start there. But after five minutes of not writing anything and chewing on the end of the pen, she abandoned that idea. Maybe places she didn’t want to live? That worked better, but she filled up the page and hadn’t reached any conclusions. She tore it off the pad and wadded it up.
Maybe living there was too much of a commitment. She started writing down places she wanted to visit. The more she wrote, the more excited she got. She did want to travel, to see places she’d only read about, even if they seemed boring on the surface, like Saskatchewan or Nevada. Maybe she’d discover something that others had missed, or so took for granted that they forgot to mention it in any of the travel books or documentaries. Naturally, three-quarters of what she put on the list was on another continent. As if she could psychically read the items, Daisy moaned and sighed like an old lady that had smoked a pack a day for sixty years and had ungrateful children. Tess just shook her head and put a star by the locations where Daisy couldn’t come along.
She set that pad aside and grabbed another one, and changed out her pen for a purple one. Time for something harder, like all the reasons she could think of why she avoiding making goals for herself.
1. I’m busy
2. I have everything I want.
Tess crossed that out immediately. That was a lie, and the other list proved it.
3. I don’t have enough money to pursue my dreams.
Better, but still not there yet. That sounded too much like an excuse.
4. I don’t know where to start.
Hmmmm.
5. I’m waiting for something to happen.
Tess just stared at that last item and felt goose bumps form on her arms. Rubbing them, she swallowed hard. What was she waiting for? Where had that come from? But no answers materialized. She put everything back on the nightstand and turned off the light. Shifting down under the covers, she tried not to feel
like she’d been wasting her life up to this point. With the lights off, she could see the stars winking over the treetops. They didn’t seem overly concerned that she still didn’t have a plan.
CHAPTER FIVE
The next morning, Tess awoke to the sound of her alarm clock, but for once didn’t mind the intrusion. She bounced out of bed and fished through the pile of clothes on the chair to get dressed. She had designated one outfit as official barn gear so she didn’t cycle through clothes so fast, and headed out to take care of the cows before breakfast. It was becoming easier to do the chores almost out of habit instead of having to think about each step. When everyone was fed and watered, she headed into the house to get on with the rest of her day.
On her second cup of coffee, she decided she had sufficient fortitude to deal with the voicemail messages. The first was her mother wanting her to call her back, the second was, as expected, Nate apologizing for not being there when she called, and asking her to call him back. But she hadn’t called in the first place, so did he not know that or was he trying to put her on the defensive? Probably the latter. And a brief, faint message from Gran. Who didn’t ask her to call back. Damn. She’d missed her, and Gran hadn’t left a phone number or even much of a message, just saying she’d try again later.
