CHAPTER SIX

Jake hopped in his blue SUV and turned right out of the Cat Clinic parking lot. His prized new car had been an extravagant purchase, but he’d needed the new toy to distract him. On this splendid spring day, with the sunroof wide open and the high-end stereo system turned up to the max, he planned to go hiking.

On the way to the mountains, he stopped by the Pleasant Hills Post Office to pick up his mail. There wasn’t much else of note in his very small town. No fast food joints, no gas stations, and no grocery stores. The tiny community lacked the barest essential of a handy convenience store in case he had a yen for a chocolate bar. Dark chocolate, the darker the better, was one of his weaknesses. Still, the hamlet remained his own little slice of heaven.

Cruising with the windows wide open, Jake leaned back in his leather seat and enjoyed the scenery. In the space of a few miles, he happened upon goats, cows, and horses, more than he’d come across in his entire life in the suburbs of Baltimore. He still marveled that in his bungalow’s own backyard, bold deer tromped through on a daily basis, gray squirrels flourished, and just last week, there’d been a possum cuddled up in his trashcan. With babies. There was nothing much cuter than a baby possum. Mama had hissed at him, and he’d quickly backed away.

He rounded the corner of Route 26 and Millers Farm Road and spotted the Pleasant Hills Bakery, busy as usual. If there was ever a traffic jam in the area, it could be found in the bakery parking lot. Jake had another weakness—freshly baked cinnamon buns with warm cream cheese frosting. He parked in one of the few empty spaces and joined the queue inside.

Five people stood ahead of him, but this place was worth the wait. When it was his turn to step to the head of the line, he was elated to see a friendly face taking piping-hot rolls out of the oven.

“Hi, Jake. Nice to see you again. You want the usual?” The older woman behind the counter, Mrs. Wilson, winked at him.

“Gee, am I that predictable?” Jake tossed her a grin and snatched some extra napkins. He was going to need them. “Yes please, and extra icing on the cinnamon bun if you don’t mind.” He liked Mrs. Wilson. She was the grandmother of one of his students at Oakdale Middle School. Coaching the intramural basketball team at the school was fun, and he loved to see Mrs. Wilson cheering on her grandson from the stands. She never missed a game.

Mrs. Wilson handed him his coffee and extra-gooey pastry. “Where are you headed on this beautiful day?”

“Cascade Falls. I stumbled across the park last fall when I was exploring the area. It’s practically around the corner in country miles.” Jake balanced his breakfast and reached into his pocket to pay the bill. “It’s been a while since I tested my climbing skills, and it’s long past time I had a good workout.”

“Wish I could join you, but with these old bones, I think I’d do better eyeing the falls from the bottom rather than gazing down from the top. Climbing a ninety-eight-foot waterfall is a bit beyond my capabilities, I’m afraid. Oh, to be young again…”

Jake stuffed a generous tip in the tip jar and searched for a seat. All of the tables in the bakery shop were filled, so he roamed outside and found a seat on a nearby stump. The tree must have been a giant, because there was easily room for two. Too bad he didn’t have somebody to share his roll. Maybe someone like the woman at the vet, the one with the cat named Maisie. Her hazel eyes sparkled, and it didn’t hurt that she was built. Friendly and cute. His kind of girl.

Jake could have kicked himself. Her cat’s name popped right into his head, but he’d neglected to get hers. And he hadn’t inspected her ring finger. Man, was he rusty. He’d give Lori a call later. Her talents in the dating arena far outweighed his.

He licked the icing off his fingers, ambled over to the SUV, and aimed the vehicle toward Cascade Falls State Park. Thirty minutes later, he veered his car into the entrance to the park and swung into a parking space by Cascade Lake. What a pretty sight. An abundance of ducks and geese swam on the water, and half a dozen day-trippers fished from the shoreline. A couple of kids skipped stones, no doubt to the dismay of the anglers, and a sandy beach attracted a small band of children. The water was way too cold for swimming, but shrieks of delight echoed around the lake as a naughty child splashed his long-suffering parents.

One small boy, around eight or nine, dug a red plastic cup out of the sand. He glanced sideways at a dainty, blonde wisp of a girl playing nearby. He dipped the cup in the lake, studied its contents, and poured tiny minnows and a fat tadpole back in the water. The little girl turned her back then peeked over her shoulder. The young boy pouted, waded out a little farther, and dunked the cup back under the water. He pulled out a wriggling crayfish between two fingers and grinned at the girl with eager anticipation, watching for signs of admiration. The lass placed a hand on her hip, wrinkled her nose in disgust, and twirled away, ignoring him completely. Mr. Crayfish landed back in the cup with a plop.

Then it was as if a light bulb lit up the mischievous corners of the little kid’s brain. The youngster smirked, tilted his head, sauntered over in her direction, and dumped the cup of lake water—including the crayfish—on the fair-haired girl’s head. Squeals erupted, a tussle ensued, wet sand flew, and boy chased girl down the beach with impish joy. Jake smiled. Ah, young love.

Opening the back of his SUV, Jake got ready to hike. In his backpack, he’d stowed a couple of turkey sandwiches, an apple, and several bottles of water—boring but portable. Wearing rugged hiking boots and his beloved Maryland Terps t-shirt, he prepared himself for a climb. He’d even brought a hat. With blue eyes and “sun-kissed” blond highlights in his hair, as his droll sister insisted upon reminding him, he burned easily.

He reached for the hatch to close it and paused. Instead, he searched under a pile of sports paraphernalia and unearthed his Bible. On the front of the well-worn book, his name was embossed in gold. Jacob Scott Montgomery. He hadn’t touched his Bible in quite a long time, but he might read a chapter or two. God wasn’t off the hook yet for snatching away his bride-to-be, but he’d always liked the comfort of the Psalms.

Or maybe he’d read about one of those righteous battles depicted in the Old Testament. Recalling the many accounts of how the Jews had trounced the Philistines couldn’t help but be entertaining. Yep, that would perk him up. A good fight scene could certainly stir the blood.

No one, not even God, was going to make him read the story of Jonah again. He’d had enough of that big fish story.

Swinging his backpack over his shoulder, Jake tramped toward the forest. The tree line offered two trails to the falls. The path to the left was level, wide, and covered with soft sand. An “ingenious” sign designated it “The Easy Trail.” Turning to the right, Jake chose the fork marked “Not for the Novice Hiker.” Crooked and rocky, in sections it appeared almost vertical. On this dazzling mid-April day, some serious thinking was in order. He forged ahead with new resolve. Jake Montgomery didn’t do “easy.”