Terrified, Rachel ran to her nightstand, grabbed her cordless handset and raced for the living room. Suddenly, her smoke and heat detectors began to beep and scream. She punched in 9-1-1—jerked the phone to her ear. No dial tone! Her panic escalated. Rushing to her kitchen phone, she yanked the receiver off the hook and released another frightened breath. Still no dial tone!
Her thoughts ran wild. Save what you can! No! Get out, get out! Then: the camp store has a phone! The smoke was faint, and the fire was at the rear corner of the house. She had time. Rachel was through the patio door in seconds and bolting down the steps. She hit the driveway’s limestone chips at a run. Behind her, motion lights clicked on.
She still had lights! Thank you, Jesus! Now please, please let the phone work!
Eighty yards away, the camp store’s faint overnight lighting showed the way. She ran faster, barely aware of the stones cutting into her feet. Sixty yards. Forty. Twenty. Gasping, she leaped onto the stoop, tried the door. Locked! She yanked the wooden No Pets Inside, Please sign off the siding beside the door and smashed the glass pane—fumbled an arm inside to free the latch. Seconds later she uttered a shaky prayer of thanks again.
She had a dial tone!
Every nerve in his body pulsed and thumped as Jake yanked a T-shirt over his jeans, jammed his feet into his boots and strode for the door. He jerked his jacket from the back of a kitchen chair on his way out. The police scanner beside his bed was still squawking orders to and from firemen and emergency personnel on their way to the campground.
Maggie ran after him through his still-open door—jumped into the truck with him when he slid behind the wheel. Then he gunned the engine and roared out of his driveway, his brain all needles and fear. Rachel was too vigilant to have accidentally caused the fire, and she was a stickler for upkeep. No old paint cans or turpentine rags would be lying around waiting to spontaneously combust. That pile of rocks was back in his belly. He wasn’t an alarmist by nature, and he really didn’t like where his thoughts were headed. But after seeing a man skulking around her place on Sunday night, what were the odds that Rachel’s fire was a coincidence? A small voice answered, Low, but keep an open mind.
Jake rounded the deep curve in the road, saw the sign for her campground in his headlights, then touched a boot to the brake to make the turn. He flew over the uneven lane and skidded to a stop outside her store. She’d told the dispatcher that’s where she was calling from. Already, the smell of smoke permeated the truck’s cab.
Jake ordered Maggie to stay, then leaped out and quickly ascended the stoop. There was broken glass all over—and no sign of Rachel. He ran down the driveway. He could see flames now, could see smoke billowing from the far side of the house. Jake’s stomach fell to his feet when he spotted her on the deck. She threw an armful of clothes, books and a heavy case over the railing, most of it landing beside her red Explorer with the campground emblem on its side.
He accelerated, shouted at the top of his lungs. “Rachel! Get out of there!”
“I’ll be right back!” she cried.
“No! Get out of there now!” he repeated. “There’s nothing in your house worth dying for!” But she’d already covered her nose and mouth with a cloth and was rushing back inside.
Jake took the stairs two at a time, his heart pounding triple time. “Rachel!”
She reappeared, clutching something tightly against her chest.
Latching on to her wrist, he tugged her down the stairs. The blaze had found its voice now, angry orange flames roaring as they lit the night, devouring siding and igniting roof shingles.
She pulled away—rushed to the items scattered on the ground. “Help me grab my things! Throw them in my car!”
Arguing was useless, so he moved swiftly, then hustled her into the passenger seat and jumped behind the wheel. The keys were in the ignition. Hitting the gas, he backed all the way up the drive, then swerved into a parking space outside the camp store.
He shot her a look of total disbelief, worry making his tone harsher than he intended. “For the love of God, Rachel, what were you thinking, running into a burning house? You have a propane tank out back that could blow to kingdom come and take you with it. What was so important that you’d risk—”
She jerked a look at him. “Don’t yell at me!” Then her face crumbled, and she started to cry. Slowly, she turned the wedding photo she’d held to her chest to face him, and her voice dropped to a sad, teary whisper. “I couldn’t just leave him in there.”
Her words hit him squarely in the heart. He couldn’t have felt lower if he’d attacked her physically. Sighing, Jake slid over on the seat and reached for her … wrapped her in his arms as tightly as David Patterson’s picture would permit.
“I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “I know you couldn’t.” But as much as he wanted to keep holding her, with every tick of the clock, the fire crept closer to that propane tank. Easing her away, he spoke softly but seriously. “Rachel, it’s the middle of the night. It’ll take the firemen time to get here. We should try to slow down the fire—keep the propane tank cool.”
Jake saw her eyes widen as she realized how much worse the situation could become. The woods, her cabins and store—her very livelihood—could go up in a fireball explosion that seared the sky.
“Your garden hose has a high pressure nozzle,” he said quickly, opening the car door. “It’ll spray a hundred feet.” Whether that would do any good was a mystery, but they had to try.
He didn’t have to say another word. She was already halfway out of the car.
Hours later, Rachel stood by Jake’s side, tears streaming again as she watched volunteer firemen training their hoses on hot spots, and continuing to wet the utility shed where David’s truck, golf cart and lawnmowers were stored—wet down the trees surrounding her home. Utility servicemen still milled around, talking to firemen and drinking coffee supplied by the ladies of the firemen’s auxiliary.
The house itself was all but gone now, nothing left but charred timbers, a creek stone chimney that wouldn’t give up, and the acrid smell of burned memories she would remember all of her life. It hurt so much that she didn’t trust herself to speak.
Jake slid his arm around her shoulders, and she turned into him, holding on tightly and grateful for his strength.
“Let’s go back to the camp store,” he murmured against her temple. “We can grab another cup of coffee or a donut or just sit for a while.” After the firemen had arrived, Jake had pulled a pair of flip-flops, bottled water, towels and antiseptic spray from her store shelves. Then, over her teary objections, he’d knelt down to clean the dirt from her feet and attend a bloody cut she didn’t know she had. “You should give your foot a rest. There’s nothing you can do here.”
She knew that, but somehow she couldn’t stop watching, couldn’t stop monitoring every word the firemen and hazmat team called to each other. She’d managed to save some of her things; besides her wedding portrait, she’d gathered a photo album, the clothes from her dryer and her security box. Thankfully, David had insisted the box be placed in the laundry room off the kitchen—not in the bedroom or living room where thieves might expect it to be.
Rachel swallowed hard. Electric service to her home had been separate from the store and campsites, and light poles throughout the campground glowed in the lingering smoke and haze. She stepped back from him, but not very far. “You’re a good man.”
“I try,” he said quietly.
“You do more than try.” He’d barely left her side since he’d arrived except for a few minutes a half hour ago. Once it was certain that the fire wouldn’t spread to the woods, he’d driven Maggie back home and put her in her pen. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough for everything you’ve done tonight.”
He smiled. “Well, it’s not as if I was busy doing anything else.” At some point, he’d slipped his green jacket over her dorm shirt—startling her because she’d forgotten how she was dressed. Now he adjusted it on her shoulders. “Come on. The firemen’s auxiliary’s been working hard back at the store. You don’t want the ladies to think they’re unappreciated, do you?”
“No,” she said. “I wouldn’t want that.”
They were preparing to walk back up the lane to the store when, from some distance away, Fire Chief Ben Caruthers called for Rachel to wait.
“Give me a minute?” she said to Jake, automatically backing up several feet.
“Sure.”
“I’ll catch up with you as soon as I’m through.”
Dressed in smoke-smudged, dull-gold bunker pants and an insulated coat striped with reflective tape, Ben came toward her. An SCBA mask dangled from his neck. Like many of the firemen who attended her church—Roy Blair, Nate, Joe Reston and the Atkins brothers—Ben had offered his sympathies earlier. She wasn’t surprised when Reverend and Mrs. Landers showed up to offer their prayers and visit for a few minutes. They were loving, caring people who did whatever needed to be done for St. John’s congregation, day or night. The big surprise was the courtesy that off-duty Chief of Police Lon Perris had shown her. Maybe it was the lack of a uniform and a gun on his hip that seemed to soften his demeanor. But by the time Charity P.D. officers Charlie Banks and newly hired Caleb “Call” Drago took him aside to talk, she was nearly ready to change her opinion of him.
Ben pulled off his helmet and heavy gloves as he reached her—kept his insulated hood on. “Sorry, Rachel. The house was just too far gone by the time we got here. But you were insured and you can rebuild. Focus on that—and the fact that you got out alive.”
“I am, Ben. And believe me, I’m grateful.” But she couldn’t think about rebuilding right now. She was too worried that she might have inadvertently caused the fire. “Do you know how it started? I can’t think of anything I did that might have—”
Caruthers glanced aside for an uneasy moment, then said, “I can’t say, Rachel. That’s up to the fire marshal to determine. I expect he’ll be here tomorrow.” He exhaled heavily. “In the meantime, what are your plans? Do you know where you’ll be staying? We’ll need to get in touch with you.”
A firm voice came from behind her. “She’ll be staying with me.”
Rachel turned sharply and her eyes welled with tears again. “Jenna.”
“I’m so sorry,” Jenna murmured, hugging Rachel close. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Rachel tried to keep her voice from cracking but failed. It was nearly daybreak, and Jenna should have been in her kitchen preparing breakfast pastries for her guests. “Jen, you shouldn’t be here.”
“Of course I should. You’re my friend.”
“You have an inn to run.”
“Not for another three days. I’m not reopening until Monday.”
Rachel sighed. That was right. They’d talked about it yesterday. Or was it the day before? She couldn’t think. Everything except the present was a blur. “How did you know about the fire?”
With a cheerless smile, Jenna turned her to face Jake, and there was no need for her friend to answer. “You’ve been a busy boy tonight,” she murmured.
He ambled closer. “I figured you’d eventually get sick of me, and want someone who could actually do you some good. I phoned Jenna when I took Maggie back home.”
“But how did you—?”
“—know to call Jenna?” He smiled. “You’ve mentioned her enough times that I knew she was important to you. Not all men have selective hearing.”
Gratitude cinched her voice. “I owe you.”
He shook his head. “Anyone who knows you would have done the same.” He glanced around, seemed satisfied that she was in good hands, then backed away. “I’ll see you later. If you need anything, holler.” He turned to Jenna. “You have my phone number. Thanks for coming.”
“Thanks for calling,” she replied. “I just wish you’d done it sooner.”
Then Rachel watched as he strode back to the camp store where his truck waited and—not for the first time tonight—thanked God for his friendship.
Why wasn’t she dead? Why wasn’t this over?
He was far from the madness of smoke and flames now, but his heart still pounded so frantically that he feared he’d stroke out. Rushing to the bathroom medicine chest, he snatched a bottle of aspirin from the shelf and turned on the cold water spigot. Pills clacked against plastic as he shook out two tablets, then swallowed them with a handful of water. He jammed the bottle back inside the mirrored chest and stared at his reflection.
He could still feel the heat of the fire, still feel the weight of his gear and the SCBA mask pressing into his face. And despite his shower, he could still smell the stench of smoke.
He wet his hands—pumped liquid soap into his palm and scrubbed his face. Pushed frothy bubbles into his nostrils to cover the smell.
He’d been smart about the fire—used a common accelerant that would positively point to arson and rule out an educated fireman. In this day and age of forensics, it was nearly impossible to create an “accidental” fire. Kerosene and gasoline would have done the trick because they had low flash points. But ultimately he’d chosen one that fit his purposes better in the event that Rachel lived through the blaze. He’d used the same stove-and-lantern fuel she sold in her store, and in doing that, planted a little seed that she might have started the blaze herself.
He walked around, fretted, wondered if the aspirin was burning a hole in his stomach lining. He’d heard of repressed—or was that suppressed?—memories. What if she woke up one morning and realized he was the man she’d seen Sunday night? Tears formed in his eyes. She’d tell. And life as he knew it would be over. Everything he’d worked for would be over!
Suddenly his insides revolted, and with an anguished cry, he bent over the toilet and emptied his stomach. “God, help me,” he whispered gripping the bowl. But he doubted that God was listening anymore.
Rachel swam toward consciousness in the shaded room, the world around her slowly taking shape. Two tall posters rose at the bottom of her cozy bed, and from somewhere to her left, a soft breeze touched her face. She smiled—stretched a little.
Then reality swept away contentment, and a cold hard stone settled on her heart. She was at Jenna’s, in one of her rooms at the Blackberry. Her home and everything in it was gone.
It all came back to her. She remembered the fire, remembered the fear … remembered Jake holding her and washing her feet.
“Come on. Sit down and let me do this. Looks like you stepped on a piece of glass—probably when you broke into the store.”
“I’m okay. I can do it.”
“I know you can,” he’d replied, the compassion in his eyes touching her. “But let me.”
She smiled sadly. Who would have thought a big man could be so gentle?
Blinking back tears, she got out of bed, grimaced a little when her left foot touched the floor, then pulled Jenna’s robe over the nightgown she’d borrowed. She’d asked Jenna to wake her if she slept past twelve-thirty, and according to the clock beside the bed, it was nearly that now. She found her friend in the sunny little breakfast nook off the kitchen, setting the table with white china cups, saucers and plates ringed in tiny pink roses. It was a lovely, welcome sight after the horror of charred wood and broken dreams.
“Good afternoon,” Jenna said, smiling and looking up. “Did you sleep well?”
“Better than I can remember,” Rachel replied, returning her smile. She took a seat. “If all the beds in the Blackberry are as comfortable as mine, no wonder business is booming.”
“I’m not sure it’s booming,” Jenna said, pouring coffee for the two of them. “But reservations are coming in. I’ll be full—except for your room—on Monday.”
“How wonderful,” Rachel returned, then took in the table. Glazed cranberry-almond scones were piled on a footed crystal platter, and at each of their place settings, glasses of orange juice sat beside small bowls of chilled berries and fruit. Pale green rings held pink linen napkins.
She wasn’t used to such lavishness. She loved nice things and enjoyed dressing up for special occasions. But for the most part, she was a hot dogs-and-mountains, pies-over-a-fire woman. It still felt wonderful to be pampered—if only for a day or two.
Jenna was moving again, taking a bowl of whipped cream from the refrigerator, then adding a huge dollop of it to their fruit. “Now what else can I get you? An omelet? Cereal? Waffles?”
Rachel had to laugh. “Nothing. This is almost more than I can handle.”
“You’re sure? It wouldn’t be any trouble.”
“I’m sure.”
“Okay, then.” She took a seat across from Rachel and drew a deep breath. “What’s your plan today?”
The hurt came back. “I guess I should contact my insurance company first. Then I’ll call Ben. He said the fire marshal would probably be investigating today. And I suppose I should drive down to the campground—see what I have to work with in the light of day.”
Jenna’s look softened. “That should be a lot of fun. Need some company? I’m not busy today.”
“Thanks, but I need to face this on my own. Besides, I’ll be there for a while. I need to have the glass replaced in my door, and call my guests—give them the option of bowing out. I’m afraid the smell of the fire could linger for a while.”
“What about your parents?”
“I know I should call them—at least let my mom know. But with Dad still recovering … Jenna, I just can’t. She’d want to be with both of us, and it would tear her apart.”
Jenna stirred cream and sugar into her coffee. “They lived here for a lot of years. What if they hear it from someone they still keep in touch with? This is the era of texting, emails and instant messaging.”
Rachel sighed. “I guess I’ll deal with that if it happens.”
Her dad’s job had taken her parents back to historic Williamsburg following her wedding, and Rachel’s Southern belle mom had loved returning to her roots on the James River where so much history had been made. Then two months ago, her dad had suffered a slight stroke, and Rachel had hurried to Virginia. Toward the end of her two-week visit, she’d convinced her mom to surrender her dad’s care to her aunt Chelsea for a few hours, and they’d toured an old plantation. Her mom had insisted that she’d had fun, soaking up tales of traveling tinkers and spoon-stealing union officers. But Rachel knew she’d worried constantly. The last thing she wanted to do was add to her worries.
Reluctantly, she met Jenna’s eyes. They were the same lovely blue as the figure-skimming V-neck rib-knit top she wore with matching slacks and a tiny pearl timepiece dangling from long, thin chains. Rachel couldn’t recall a night or day when her friend didn’t look as if she’d stepped out of a fashion magazine. “I have a favor to ask.”
“Anything. If I have it, it’s yours.”
“I need to borrow something to wear so I can shop for my own. I think the only clothes I salvaged are sweats.”
Jenna smiled. “My closet is your closet.” Then she asked the blessing, and Rachel added to it.
“Thank you for giving me good friends and neighbors, Lord. Bless them, especially Jenna who’s given me a home, the firemen who worked so tirelessly … and my friend Jake who always seems to know exactly what to say and do.” She smiled at Jenna. “Amen. Now pass those wonderful scones. I’m starving.”
At four-fifteen, Jake pulled into the Blackberry Hill Bed and Breakfast, shut off his truck and grabbed the bag beside him on the seat. A few moments later, he was standing in the foyer and handing it to Jenna. “She’s not here?”
Jenna shook her head. “She needed to do some shopping—and she wanted to drive down to the campground to see where she stood. I offered to go along, but she wanted to do it herself.”
He got that. The best way to handle lousy news was to face it head-on. Despite her tears last night, she had the strength to do that. “Okay, I’ll catch up with her later. I just wanted to drop those off. They’re probably the wrong size, but maybe they’ll work anyway. The salesclerk said they’d be comfortable.” He paused. “Just tell her I—”
A car pulled in outside, and he turned to glance through the screen door. “Never mind,” he said, glad to see her red Explorer. “I’ll tell her myself.”
Blue eyes twinkling, Jenna returned the bag, opened the door and saw him out. “Take your time.”
Jake wasn’t sure what all that twinkling was about and he didn’t ask. He concentrated on Rachel—concentrated on keeping his head straight and their friendship just that. Risking her life to save her wedding portrait from the flames had sent an indelible message. In some ways she would always be David Patterson’s wife—and they were ways that counted to a man.
“Hi,” she called as she left the car loaded down with packages of her own. It was cool today, but sunlight shot her thick sable shag with highlights. “What brings you to my foster home?”
“Your feet.” He was surprised to see her sounding and acting so calm. She looked pretty in the outfit she wore—olive-green cotton slacks and a white sweater with a scooped neckline trimmed in olive-green. He nodded at her new neon-white sneakers as she ascended the steps. “But it looks like you won’t need these after all.”
With a curious tilt of her head, she accepted the bag he offered. She smiled when she withdrew the shoe box and opened the lid. “Sandals?”
“You can return them if you don’t like them or they don’t fit. Because I wasn’t sure of your size, I sort of—” He positioned his hands this way and that as though he were holding her foot again. “Guessing isn’t an exact science.”
Her green eyes warmed, and a matching feeling rose in his chest. Then he watched her take a seat on the porch’s wicker sofa, ease off her sneakers and short socks and slip on the low-heeled, cushion-soled, strappy leather sandals he’d bought for her. The bandages he’d applied to her left foot last night had been replaced with fresh ones.
“Will they work?” Ridiculous as it seemed, he couldn’t recall ever giving a gift that made him feel so … He didn’t know what the right word was, but if spending a few bucks made him feel this good, he’d buy footgear for the whole town.
She stood and flashed a foot. “They’re great! I love them. I feel like Cinderella.”
And he felt like the prince. Although the service revolver on his hip and his tan uniform were a far cry from a plumed hat and a silver sword.
“I have to pay you for them.”
“No, you don’t. Just consider them a fair trade for six months worth of coffee.” He dropped his voice and changed the subject. “How did things go today? Did the fire marshal get in touch with you?”
Sobering, she sat back down and he took a seat beside her. “I haven’t heard anything yet. But my insurance company’s in the process of putting through the claim.”
“That has to be a relief.”
“You have no idea,” she returned. The light in her eyes dimmed for an instant, then she called up a quick smile. “But I’m good now. I lived through visiting the rubble, so now it’s onward and upward.”
“You’re still planning to open Memorial Day weekend?” He’d walked down to her house today, too, and the smell of charred wood and chemical odors still remained. Yards of yellow police tape couldn’t hold back the stench.
“Yes. Thank heaven my guest list and information was in the camp store’s computer, too. I was able to phone everyone who’d booked sites and tell them I couldn’t guarantee the smoke smell would be gone when they arrived.”
Jake smiled inside when she tucked her socks, sneakers and the empty shoe box into the bag, but kept the sandals on her feet.
“Anyway,” she continued, “I gave them the option of canceling, but no one wanted to. My business survived. I’m feeling blessed.”
“You feel blessed? By God?”
“Well, yes,” she said with a grin. “He’s the guy in charge of that stuff.”
Jake shook his head. “You amaze me.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re so at peace with everything. So accepting. So positive. It’s just hard to understand how you could lose your home and—”
“Watching my home go up in flames was devastating,”
she assured him. “But there’s nothing I can do about it. Would you rather see me crying again?”
“No, but I can’t understand why you stopped. You’re like my mother. You’re devout. You pray, you go to church every Sunday even if you’re exhausted. Don’t you deserve better than this? Why aren’t you mad at God?”
She tilted her head. “Why would I be mad at Him? He saved my life. He woke me up.”
“That wasn’t God you heard. Your smoke detectors woke you up.”
“No, they didn’t. I woke up before they went off. But even if I’d had to depend on them, God gave someone the intelligence to invent them, so in the end …”
Jake sighed at her unshakable faith and conceded. She was like his mother. Full of forgiveness. “Okay, God woke you up. I got it.”
“Good, because it’s true.”
She got quiet then, and as birds called to each other and the sun slid behind a thick bank of clouds, Jake realized it was time to leave. She had things to do. At the very least, she probably needed some rest.
“You’re sure I can’t pay you for the sandals?” she asked, rising with him, then joking. “I’ll be getting a big insurance check soon, so I can afford it.”
“I’m positive.” It still astounded him that she could make light of her loss—at least on the surface.
“Then let me thank you another way—for the sandals and for everything you did last night.” Her next very familiar words made Jake wonder if he did have his head on straight where she was concerned. “Let me treat you to an early dinner. Nothing fancy. Just chicken at the diner, and maybe ice cream for dessert.”
He battled with himself for a few seconds, wondering if saying yes was a good idea. If he started caring too much about someone who was unavailable, he could be running around with a hole in his gut again. He hadn’t liked it the first time, and he was pretty sure the second time would be even worse. But … they were friends, and she felt grateful. Nothing more. “Can you wait until I change clothes and check on Maggie?”
“No problem,” she said, indicating the outfit she wore. “I have things to do, too. These are Jenna’s. I’d like to toss the clothes I bought in the washer before I leave so I can wear my own things tomorrow. I don’t want to put her out any more than I have to.”
“Okay.” But he suspected that Jenna didn’t consider herself “put out” at all. “Do you want to meet me at the diner around five?”
“Five’s perfect.”
“Great. I’ll see you then.”
He was in his truck and about to pull out of the driveway and onto Main Street Extension when his cell phone pumped out a melody. Pulling it from the case on his belt, he checked the caller’s number. And everything inside of him shut down. Drawing a breath, he flipped open the phone and tried to keep his voice polite. Trying was a big fat waste of time.
“Hello, Heather,” he said coolly. “What do you want?”
The diner was noisy when they arrived, the chatter of conversation and clank of silverware nearly drowning out the pop music from the seventies. It was Saturday night. The lunch counter was jammed, short tables were pushed together to accommodate parents and kids, and teenagers were packed six in a booth. Three waitresses moved along at a steady clip, trying to keep up. Everyone seemed to be having a good time.
Everyone except Jake, Rachel guessed.
He was trying to hide it, but something had definitely changed since she last saw him. “Where would you like to sit?” she asked. There were a few small tables available in the center of the room, but the booths were all full.
“Anywhere,” he said, forcing a friendly grin. “The food will be good no matter where we sit.”
But would the conversation be good, too? Especially with the two of them trapped in the middle of madness and mayhem? Rachel’s interest sharpened as a couple got up and left a back booth. The table wasn’t cleared, but—She turned to Jake and smiled. “Follow me, sir.”
Several people offered their sympathies on the fire as they threaded their way back. The women all eyed Jake with subtle interest, which was the nature of things. But their interest wasn’t confined to his broad shoulders, jeans and pale blue knit shirt. Rachel knew they wondered if she and Jake were a couple.
By the time they made it to their booth, eighteen-year-old bundle-of-energy Mitzi Abbott had cleared away the glasses and plates. The cute brunette flashed them a smile, spritzed water on the table and whisked a cloth over it.
“Hi, Rachel. Hi, Jake. Do you need menus? Our special’s chicken-fried steak with your choice of potato or green beans and either French onion soup or a side salad. Oh, cinnamon applesauce comes with it, too.”
“The special sounds good,” Jake said, smiling. “I’ll have the salad, baked potato and coffee. Rachel?”
“Same here,” she said, although she knew it was going to be too much food.
Mitzi was already on the move. “Great,” she called. “I’ll be right back with your drinks.”
Rachel slid into the booth, set her shoulder bag on the seat beside her, then met Jake’s eyes across the table. When she didn’t say anything for a full moment, he spoke.
“What?”
“Ninety minutes ago you were happy and upbeat. Now you’re distracted or disturbed about something.”
“It’s that obvious?”
“To me it is. Do you want to talk about it? Or should I mind my own business?”
He didn’t have time to respond—which might have been a good thing, Rachel decided. A tall, rack-of-bones man with pale blue eyes and rimless eyeglasses left his table and walked on stork legs to their booth. Elmer Fox’s red plaid flannel shirt was tucked into navy work pants, and his belt was cinched so tightly that it puckered his waistband. Closely clipped white hair showed under his red-and-black Woolrich cap.
Charity’s favorite outspoken octogenarian spoke in a hoarse voice that made people want to clear their throats. “Heard about the fire, Rachel. You doin’ all right?”
By now, her responses were all the same. “Yes, I’m doing fine. Thanks for asking.”
He folded his long, lanky frame into the booth beside her. “Dang shame. All them firemen working so hard and unable to save your place. I hear you’re stayin’ at the Blackberry for now.”
“Yes. Jenna insisted.”
“That’s good of her. But you got a campground to run, and it’s gonna be hard to do it from town.” He paused. “I got a nice room at my place if you want it. It ain’t fancy like the Blackberry, but it’s clean and it’s a dang sight closer to your work.”
Rachel’s heart nearly melted. What a darling man he was. But there was no way she could accept his offer. Besides, she already had a plan of sorts. She reached over to squeeze his age-spotted hand. “Thank you, but I’m afraid tongues would wag if I moved in with you. I wouldn’t want to put you in that position.”
For a long moment, Elmer stared at her blankly as if trying to decipher what she meant. Then a light went on in his blue eyes, his jaw dropped and he hooted until he wheezed. “Now wouldn’t that be somethin'! Last time folks gossiped about me, Ike was in office.”
Laughing along with him, Rachel turned to Jake and made belated introductions. “Jake, do you know Elmer Fox?”
He reached across the table to shake Elmer’s hand. “Only by sight and reputation.” Which was considerable, Rachel thought. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Fox.”
Elmer’s expression soured. “You the new game warden?”
“Yep.” Technically, he was a W.C.O., but game warden worked.
“You read any of the signs outside my house?”
“Yes, sir, I have. I drive by your place almost daily.”
“Then you know I don’t like the way you fellas are managing the deer.”
Jake seemed to hold back a smile. “I do. Maybe we should talk sometime.”
“Maybe we should,” he agreed with a grumpy nod. Then he glanced at the table full of teenagers he’d left. Apparently, he’d been holding court. “Well, I gotta get back over there. None of ‘em knows a thing about World War II and they got finals coming up.”
He shook a finger at Rachel as he started away. “Remember, I got a nice room for you if you want it.”
“I’ll keep it in mind, Elmer,” she called. “Have a nice evening.”
Then Mitzi arrived with their drinks and salads, more people stopped by their table to offer their sympathies and talk about the fire and the time for discussing Jake’s problem passed.
He surprised her by following her back to the Blackberry after they’d said goodbye at the diner—then thoroughly stunned her with an invitation.
“Feel like taking a drive?” he said when he’d parked and exited his vehicle.
A drive? Now? It would be dark in two hours. “Sure,” she said after a moment. “Is there something you want to talk about?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Heather called.”