“Six would work great. I’m going to need a shower, too, and it’s a little drive to my bed-and-breakfast. I’ll see you soon.”
I hung up and ran through the drive-through for my coveted iced coffee, then made a beeline for my carriage house. After straightening the potted plants on my doorstep, I went inside and took a quick shower. To save time, I mentally rehearsed the preparation steps for my meal. Thankfully, I still had a large portion of Susan’s lemon pound cake left for dessert, so that was one less thing I had to worry about.
After toweling off, I used a curl-defining lotion on my hair, then did my makeup. Finally, I donned my new green-embroidered peasant blouse and a ruffled skirt. I studied the finished product in my full-length mirror, adding dangly gold earrings for a sparkly touch. I looked a bit weary, yes, but my skin had picked up a tan from all the outdoor work, and the freckles sprinkling my cheeks gave me a healthy appearance. My naturally blonde hair had lightened a bit in the sunshine, too. In short, I looked like myself, which would probably be reassuring to Jonas, who was doubtless worried about the stressful effects of my wolf-tending job.
Tying an apron around my neck and waist, I launched into my meal prep. I’d decided on chicken cacciatore, which was simple and filling, yet classy. Sort of like Jonas himself—a dairy farmer with a penchant for classics and philosophy. I’d also prepped bacon-wrapped asparagus and new potatoes with garlic whipped butter, so it didn’t take me long to throw things together.
I had just added the chicken to the tomato sauce when three knocks sounded on my door. I liked the sound of those knocks—self-assured and firm. Plus, he’d knocked three times so I was sure to hear.
I fluffed my curls and glanced around. Everything was in order. The table was set with my best plates and glasses, I had a bottle of sparkling cider chilling in the fridge, and cheese and fruit were arranged on my favorite rose-painted metal tray on the coffee table. My heart gave a little hitch as I walked to the door, anxious to see Jonas’s face again.
As I swung the door open, he said, “Belinda.”
There was something about the way his voice caressed my name. It seemed to insinuate that we were very close, that he knew me better than anyone.
As my eyes trailed down to the object he was standing next to—a vintage bicycle with a large red bow on it—it was indisputable that Jonas certainly did know me well.
He gave me a sheepish look, his silvery blue eyes twinkling. “I thought you might want this—you said you wanted to get more exercise, and I found this old bike of Mom’s in the shed. She was happy for you to get some use out of it.”
The vintage bike had obviously received a lot of tender loving care, and it sported a fresh coat of Tiffany blue paint. I ran my hand along the white seat, unable to resist the bike’s pull. I steered it down the steps, bumped up the kickstand, and took it for a spin around my driveway.
Jonas, who wasn’t one to smile frequently, wore an expectant grin as I pulled to a stop and dismounted. “You like it?”
“I love it! I especially like that I just have to backpedal to brake. I’ve always hated all those newfangled hand brakes.”
He nodded. The dark hair on his shaved head had grown in a little, and his beard was neatly trimmed. Although he wasn’t as tall as Stone the fifth, he had a compact type of barely bridled power about him. Whereas Stone was long-limbed with ropy, tennis-player muscles, Jonas had the kind of upper body build that evidenced his heavy-lifting farm life. He hefted my bike onto the porch with one capable hand and set the kickstand. A flash of desire surprised me—the urge to feel those strong hands around my waist.
I dunked my head, so my curls draped the sides of my face. I could only hope my flush was hidden. “You ready to eat?” I asked brusquely.
“Definitely.” His eyes skimmed across my rosy cheeks—my discomfiture hadn’t gone unnoticed, but he didn’t mention it. “Let me just grab something from my truck first.”
He ran out to his newer-model black truck and retrieved a small flowerpot with some kind of frilly green plant in it. Holding it out to me, he said, “I brought you some of our pink poppies. They’re just starting to come up, but I think it’s okay to plant them at this point. I noticed you were always telling Mom how you liked them.”
I took the pot and caressed the pale, cabbage-like leaves. I couldn’t actually think of words to express how much Jonas’s gifts meant to me. They hadn’t cost a fortune, but the thoughtfulness and effort behind them, as well as their reminder of his sweet, ailing mother, made me tear up.
I swiped at my eyes. “Jonas, I just…thank you so much. I’ll plant these soon, probably in my back flower bed. They’ll make me smile every time I look at them.” Without thinking, I reached out to hug him.
My breath caught when he pulled me into a tight embrace, although it didn’t slide into something sensual. Rather, it felt like we both craved some key element that only the other possessed.
I stayed that way, my head pressed tight against his heart and my arms wrapped around his sturdy back, until he released me. Neither of us apologized for our clinginess.
I led him inside, ready to get caught up with this man who seemed to instinctively know the things I valued most. Farmer Jonas Hawthorne was definitely one of a kind.
18
While Jonas wasn’t thrilled with my wolf preserve updates, I could tell his interest was piqued as I elaborated on what Veronica had told me.
He swallowed a bite of asparagus, which he’d raved about. “So you’re telling me that Sergeant Hardy is anti-wolf since his sister died of a dog attack? That’s a strong motivation—if you’re vengeful enough—to try to get the preserve shut down. Did he have any opportunity to kill Shaun or Rich?”
It was an outrageous idea—that a police officer would mastermind these killings—but it wasn’t an impossibility, I supposed. Anyone could have snuck onto the preserve the morning Shaun died. Maybe Shaun had showed up way too early so he could meet with someone in private. Although Evie also tended to arrive early, she rarely left the visitors’ center, so it was unlikely she would have noticed if someone was creeping around the paths to the wolf enclosures.
On the day Rich had died, Sergeant Hardy had gone to Njord’s enclosure on his own, so there had been a brief window of opportunity when he could have attacked and killed Rich. He might have dragged Rich’s body into the enclosure before hustling out the gates to pretend he was nearly as fresh to the scene as I was. It was also possible that in his hurry, he had left the gates unlocked, so he might have decided to shoot the opened locks off to cover his tracks.
I shared my half-baked theory with Jonas, and he furrowed his dark eyebrows. “It might be a long shot, but it does seem to explain a few things.” He frowned. “If he’s responsible for the deaths, then you aren’t safe at all, Belinda. He could easily drop in to ‘check on’ something and do the same thing to you, if he wanted.”
“But that’s the question, isn’t it? I mean, how many people would he need to kill to be sure he’s ruined Dahlia’s wolf preserve? She’s already been hit with all kinds of bad press, so she’s had to shut down tours. Honestly, I don’t see how the preserve can recover.” I chewed a bite of chicken, pleased with its tenderness, then washed it down with cider. “Come to think of it, Sergeant Hardy is the lead detective. Logically, if he killed Shaun and Rich, he’s going to be busy trying to pin the murders on someone else.”
Jonas looked thoughtful. “But if he was the murderer and he’s controlling the investigation, why draw attention to the fact that Rich was murdered? Wouldn’t he want to make sure it looked like the wolves did it?”
My mind whirred along, picking up possibilities and tossing them aside, until I came up with an explanation that worked. “Maybe he didn’t get as much time as he thought he’d have for Rich. Let’s say he dragged Rich into the enclosure, hoping the wolves would gnaw on him like they did on Shaun. He had ins
tructed his other officer to check the first enclosure during this time, so that got him out of the way. He figured he’d have plenty of time, but then I came along and threw a wrench in his plans.”
Jonas nodded. “It’s possible. And because the wolves didn’t have time to chew on Rich, the coroner discovered it wasn’t a wolf attack, and he started looking into other methods of death. I wonder if they’ve determined if he was poisoned yet—you said toxicology was checking on things, right?”
“Right. Maybe there will be some more conclusive report tomorrow. I would hope that Sergeant Hardy would update Dahlia, but if he’s the killer, he’d likely sit on that information as long as possible.” I stood and walked into the kitchen. “Do you want decaf?”
Jonas grabbed the dirty dishes and utensils and joined me. “I’d love some.”
I placed my favorite mug under the spout and dropped a decaf coffee pod in. As I retrieved the creamer from the fridge, I said, “One thing that’s been niggling at me is that the killer would have to be comfortable enough with the wolves to go into their enclosure. So that would indicate it’s most likely someone on the preserve.”
“Good point,” he said. He was scoping out the lemon pound cake, which I’d artfully placed on a crystal dish. “All the more reason to be extra cautious if you stay there.”
“Help yourself,” I said. “I met a new friend and she gave me that cake—it’s delicious. Actually, I think she gave me the cake first and then I made a new friend, in that order.”
Jonas smiled. “Don’t mind if I do. I’ll cut a piece for you, too.”
Once he’d offered me the largest slice, I gathered my coffee and cake and led him to the couch. He politely stood while I positioned my food on the coffee table and settled into the couch, then he sat down—so distractingly close, our legs were nearly touching. He scanned my larger TV and my game systems. “Still gaming, I see?”
If anyone else had said that, I would think they were speaking condescendingly, like I was some frivolous entertainment junkie. But Jonas said it with a gravitas that implied that my gaming should be taken seriously.
“I am. I’m still doing articles and blog posts, that kind of thing. Trifling stuff, really.”
He shook his head. “There’s a guy in our book club and he was asking if you were the Belinda Blake. He said you needed to be on Switch.”
“The Nintendo Switch? I have one.”
“No, not that. It’s some kind of gamer channel online. I don’t know—”
“You mean Twitch. Yes, I’m working on getting set up for that.”
Jonas’s jeans-clad leg now rested against mine, just the tiniest bit, but enough to let me know he didn’t mind leaving it there. I had to fight the urge to place my hand on his knee, which seemed the natural response.
He took another bite of cake, then turned to face me. I had forgotten how impenetrable his gaze could be…it always enthralled me and made me want to plumb its depths. But his words were far from enigmatic.
“I’m telling you, this cake is amazing.” He licked the last crumbs from his lips and cocked his head. “Belinda, have you thought about building your gaming business, just like you did your pet-sitting business? It would be far less hassle than the pet-sitting jobs you’ve landed recently.”
I propped my feet up on the coffee table, confident that Jonas would never chastise me for a lack of decorum. Besides, I needed to separate my leg from his so I could have a little more breathing room—something I desperately needed for the full-on sensory overload Jonas had stirred up.
“Yes, I’ve thought about that. But right now, I like the pet-sitting gig, too. I enjoy staying somewhat plugged into Manhattan, and I have several loyal clients there. Also, you know how I love being outdoors. Kind of weird for a gamer girl, I suppose.”
His face softened. “I like that about you. You’re perfectly comfortable inside or out—there’s never a boring moment with you.”
We fell into an amiable silence as we finished our dessert. Finally, Jonas placed his plate on the coffee table. I figured he was going to say good night and head back to his bed-and-breakfast. He’d had a long day, too.
Instead, he asked, “What’s your take on Jordan Baker? Was she really on Gatsby’s side?” The way he looked at me, you’d think everything in the universe hinged on my opinion of the book.
Jonas’s question launched an impassioned discussion on side characters’ roles in The Great Gatsby that continued well into the night. I wanted to go on talking, but Jonas pointed out that my eyes were hardly staying open. He said he needed to get back to the bed-and-breakfast before the owner called to see if he was returning at all.
He helped me to my feet, and the way he clung to my hand, I wondered if he was going to lean in for a good-night kiss. But Jonas wasn’t the type of guy who would take advantage of my solitary living situation. He gave my hand a quick but thrilling squeeze and released it. “Thank you for tonight,” he said.
“When do you have to leave tomorrow?” I wanted to eke out every last minute I could with him. “Maybe you could head out this way and we could meet somewhere for breakfast.” An even better idea hit me, and I bounced up on my toes. “Or you could drop by the preserve! That way you could meet some of the people I’ve been talking about. I’d really value your opinion on things.”
He took a moment to consider. “I think I could do it, as long as I got out of there kind of early. Mom’s expecting me around noon.”
I grinned. “Sounds great. I go in around seven-thirty in the morning. You want to meet me then? It should be fairly easy for you to find—just look up directions for the White Pine Wolf Preserve online.”
“I’ll do that.” He met my gaze and held it. “I’ll look forward to tomorrow.”
After flipping on the porch light, I watched as he climbed into his truck and drove off. I probably should have told the security guard, Val, that I’d have a late-night visitor, but I was sure Jonas was perfectly capable of explaining why he was making a delayed exit.
It was only as I was crawling into bed that I realized I had been humming nonstop since I’d locked the front door.
For the first time, I was actually looking forward to going to work in the morning.
* * * *
I woke to the pleasant sounds of birds twittering just outside my open window and someone mowing the Carringtons’ already-pristine lawn. I stretched in the sunlight, taking a deep breath of the ocean-salt air that wafted in on a light breeze. It was shaping into a beautiful day to show Jonas around the preserve.
Jonas had seemed intrigued to see the lay of the land where I worked, and I was looking forward to introducing him to all the key players at my strange job. An outside opinion might help me see them through different eyes and bring to light any possible threats.
As I pulled up the wolf preserve driveway, I was pleasantly surprised to see that it was free of reporters, and although the gate was closed, it wasn’t locked. I pushed it open, drove through, then pulled it shut behind me. Jonas’s black truck was already parked outside the visitors’ center. He arrived everywhere a little early—he would definitely get along well with Red.
I got out and walked into the visitors’ center. Evie rushed over to greet me. I was pleased to see she looked well-rested.
“Once again, I have to thank you for suggesting the Fentons,” she said. “I had a wonderful evening talking with them. They’re actually familiar with the village in Britain where I grew up.”
“I know they travel frequently. I’m so glad you had a good night.” I glanced around, anxious to find Jonas. “Have you seen a man with a shaved head hanging around, by any chance?”
“I certainly did. I rather fancied he was looking for you, but Veronica came in, all distraught about the chickens, so he went to help her. Said he was a farmer or something.”
Definitely Jonas. I grabbed my gr
een vest, then hurtled out the side door toward the chicken coop.
As I drew closer, it became clear that something was very amiss. Veronica was standing outside the chicken fence, her mouth agape. She silently pointed toward the chickens.
Inside the fence, Jonas held a large stick, which he wielded in an attempt to shoo off a raccoon that was bristling in the corner. There was a sizeable hole torn in the fence directly behind the predator, indicating how it had managed to get in.
Veronica grabbed my arm. In a breathless tone, she said, “Oh, Belinda, can you believe it? I came in and these chickens were squawking and there was this huge raccoon, prowling inside the fence! It was trying to eat them!”
That much was obvious, but I patted her hand. “Don’t worry. Jonas has dealt with these kinds of things before.” I didn’t add that he usually carried a gun when he did so. “I’ll go see if I can help him.”
Jonas turned toward me and motioned to a chicken with an apparent death wish—it kept pecking its way toward the raccoon instead of away from it. I grabbed the wayward bird while Jonas extended his stick and firmly bopped the raccoon on the head. “They can be so stubborn, especially when there’s food involved,” he said.
Sure enough, the raccoon didn’t budge.
Veronica screeched, and I turned. She was pointing to another chicken that was making its way up the roosting ladder, which was right next to the raccoon. “Don’t let it kill it!” she shouted.
I didn’t know which was worse—the oblivious chickens or Veronica’s hysterics. “Shh!” I hissed, as the chicken under my arm launched into a fresh burst of squirming. “We’ll deal with it!”
Jonas jabbed at the raccoon, and I nearly died when the animal charged his leg in return. Undaunted, Jonas swept the sturdy stick into the raccoon’s side, almost like he was hitting a golf ball. The raccoon was thrown backward, landing by the hole in the fence. Jonas moved in menacingly, his stick outstretched. The raccoon hissed and snapped, but appeared to realize it had been beaten. It retreated backward through the hole, ending its brief reign of terror.
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