Dorie’s brother needed that money, so she’d have to convince this ex-cop.…

Bret rubbed his hand over his neck and said, “You have to admit that I’m not responsible for my father’s mistakes.”

“What about the Donovan family honor? Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

A grin tugged at his mouth. “I think our family honor, if we ever had any, went up in smoke at the craps table in Mountain City. Let me sleep on this. I’m going to try to work something out that’s fair to everyone.”

“So I’m supposed to just go away and come back tomorrow?”

“You don’t have to leave. If you attempt the drive down the mountain in the dark, you could end up wrapped around an oak tree.”

“Okay, I’ll stay. But I’m sleeping with one hand wrapped around my can of Mace.”

Bret placed his hand over his heart. “Ouch.” And then he smiled, and she felt that sense of comfort again. And she didn’t like it all that much. A girl gets to feeling too comfortable with a man, and that’s when her life starts unraveling.

Dear Reader,

Have you ever happened upon a special place, one you knew would stay in your memory forever? I had just such an experience at the Walasi-Yi Outfitters in the north Georgia Blue Ridge Mountains. A rustic building of wood and stone, the campers’ store and refuge was old, solid and welcoming. Its enduring architecture made the structure an integral part of the mountain environment.

I saw many hikers with rugged shoes, hats to shade their faces from the sun, and large backpacks. I also saw dogs with their own packs, slung like saddlebags over their backs.

The store had everything a backpacker could need. Freeze-dried foods, lightweight cooking utensils, sleeping bags, bug spray. Most hikers came for an hour or so and then continued on their way, refreshed and restocked for the rest of the journey.

I longed to place a story in this setting, and Blue Ridge Hideaway provided the perfect opportunity. I hope you will enjoy Bret and Dorie’s journey, and maybe even trek through the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains someday. If you see the Walasi-Yi, stop and visit.

I love to hear from readers. You can contact me at cynthoma@aol.com or visit my website, www.cynthiathomason.com

Cynthia

Blue Ridge Hideaway

Cynthia Thomason

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CYNTHIA THOMASON Cynthia inherited her love of writing from her ancestors. Her father and grandmother both loved to write, and she aspired to continue the legacy. Cynthia studied English and journalism in college, and after a career as a high school English teacher, she began writing novels. She discovered ideas for stories while searching through antiques stores and flea markets and as an auctioneer and estate buyer. Cynthia says every cast-off item from someone’s life can ignite the idea for a plot. She writes about small towns, big hearts and happy endings that are earned and not taken for granted. And as far as the legacy is concerned, just ask her son, the magazine journalist, if he believes.

MILLS & BOON

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This book is dedicated to my beloved husband,

Buddy, who walked many trails with me.

I will remember every one.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER ONE

“THIS IS IT!”

Dorie slammed on her brakes, bringing her work-weary Ford Ranger to a shuddering halt in the weeds bordering the two-lane North Carolina Route 23. “The place actually exists!”

A shaft of sunlight had managed to spear through the gloom of gray clouds, illuminating an arrow and the words The Crooked Spruce crudely painted on a roadside plaque. Another few minutes and dusk would have settled, making it likely Dorie would have missed the sign altogether.

She turned her wheel sharply to the right, grinding her front tires on the road’s gravel approach. “You’d better be here, Clancy! I didn’t drive all this way to find out I’ve been on a wild-goose chase.”

The sign nailed to a wooden post could have been constructed twenty years ago or only yesterday. The road looked as if it hadn’t been regularly navigated since...well, in a long time.

Dorie tossed aside the penciled map the clerk at the convenience store had scribbled for her twenty minutes and twelve miles ago. He hadn’t been much help, telling her he had seen the name Crooked Spruce on a small sign on a rural highway.

“No kidding, it’s a small sign,” she mumbled, starting the ascent up the mountain. When she’d asked the clerk if he’d ever been curious enough to investigate the place, he’d scratched his chin and told her to come back and tell him when she found out what it was.

Armed with this scant information, Dorie drove under the canopy of tall trees whose bare limbs waited for the first leafy buds of spring. She shivered in the skeletal shadows of branches dripping with the icy remnants of a late-afternoon shower. She’d left the balminess of a sixty-three degree day in Winston Beach, North Carolina, at noon—more than six hours ago. Here in the mountainous region of the same state, she’d had to stop and put on her parka to ward off a twenty degree dip in temperature.

Her pickup’s engine labored on the steep climb up the mountainside. And with each rounding of narrow curves, Dorie’s heart beat faster. For the half mile she’d driven so far, she’d noticed rugged pathways cut into the forest, some still patchy with snow. Perhaps cabins existed in the woods, but she hadn’t seen any sign of human life. No wonder. Who would be out on this blustery March day?

After a few minutes, another signpost loomed ahead of her. This one, obviously new and professionally constructed, arched across a substantial wooden entryway and identified her destination with two bent, short-needled trees burnt into either side of the words The Crooked Spruce Outpost.

“Clancy Donovan, it’s just like you to hide away in some backwoods place where the only living creatures who see you have four legs.” She aimed her truck into a clearing. “But you can’t hide from me now, and you’d better still have my money.”

About a hundred yards ahead, Dorie discovered a peaked-roof, two-story log building about the dimensions of a double-wide trailer. And this remote pocket of civilization included a population of at least one.

Dorie narrowed her eyes at the man perched near the top of an eight-foot ladder. Could that be Clancy? A quick appraisal of the man’s wide shoulders under his plaid wool mackinaw and his crop of thick coppery hair sticking out from a baseball cap convinced her that he wasn’t. What little hair hippie-throwback Clancy had was gray and usually tied in a leather strap at his nape.

She searched in her purse until she wrapped her hand around the container of mace she’d bought for this trip. Not that she believed she’d need it. She could handle Clancy. But the guy on the ladder was another story. Besides, a woman traveling alone should always be prepared for emergencies.

Dorie shifted the Ranger into Park a couple dozen feet from the structure. The man must have been oblivious to the not-so-stealthy approach of her eight-year-old truck since he didn’t interrupt his work to check out her arrival. Flecks of brown paint fluttered to the ground as he scraped a putty knife under the eaves of the building’s large screened porch.

She turned off the engine, and the truck made its customary hundred-thousand-mile wheeze, a cross between a cough and a hiccup, and Dorie held her breath. No way the man could ignore that sound.

He turned suddenly, dropped the putty knife to the tray attached to the ladder and pulled foam-covered earbuds from his ears. He peered into the window of her truck. Dorie’s gaze connected with his dark eyes, the color indistinct in the shadow of the building’s overhang. Could be deep brown or charcoal. She wondered why it mattered. He wasn’t Clancy. From the relaxed way he balanced his substantial height on the ladder, he had to be at least thirty years younger than the stoop-shouldered man she’d come to find. Gripping the mace, she exited the car and stood by the driver’s door.

“Hey, there,” the man said, his voice exhibiting neither malice nor welcome. “We’re not open yet. Not for another month.”

“Fine with me,” Dorie said. “I’m not here to take advantage of your services....” She glanced into the porch and noticed assorted outdoor furniture stacked up, apparently not in use at this time. “Whatever those services may be,” she added.

The earbuds dangling over his shoulders, he stepped down from the ladder and flicked a button on an MP3 player attached to the top flap of his jacket pocket. “Okay, then what can I help you with? You take a wrong turn?”

The sad irony of his question almost made her laugh out loud, though this guy couldn’t know the downward spiral the past six months of her life had taken.

“I’m looking for someone,” she said. “A man.”

His mouth quirked up in a little grin. “Like I said, we don’t open for more than four weeks. You might have more luck finding one then.”

She released a breath of frustration. “You don’t understand. I was told a particular man might be here. I’ve driven a long way to find him. His last name is Donovan.”

He walked toward her. A slight limp in his right leg contrasted with the fluid movement of the rest of his body. He held out his hand. “Well, then, you’re in luck, after all. I’m Donovan.”

She stared at his hand as she backed away from him. “No, you’re not Donovan.”

He dropped his hand to his side and pierced her with a sharp gaze, with eyes that she now realized were dark brown, like the color of a pinecone. His look was half puzzlement, half irritation. “I’m sorry, but you’re not likely to win this argument,” he said. “I do know my own name.”

She wasn’t handling this well. She was nervous, tired and, of all the outcomes she’d gone over in her mind during the drive from the Outer Banks, the possibility of finding two men with the same name in the same place wasn’t one of them. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m looking for Clancy Donovan. Do you know him?”

“Clancy, eh? You’re close. I’m Bret Donovan.”

He was about to speak again as a shout came from the side of the building. “I heard a car. Who...?”

Holding a scrub brush, Clancy Donovan stopped dead, dropped a bucket of murky water next to his rubber boots and gaped at Dorie. After a few seconds during which he obviously pondered the ramifications of her appearance, he said, “Oh, shoot. Dorie. How did you find...?”

She advanced on him. “You sorry son...”

“Watch your language,” Clancy said. “We’ve got a child living here.”

She pressed her lips together and did a quick survey of the property. She didn’t see a kid, but decided to try and rein in her temper, anyway.

Bret quickly blocked her path. “Luke isn’t due back until tomorrow. You know that,” he said to Clancy. Then, turning to Dorie he said, “Looks like you’ve found what you came for.”

She tried to sidestep him. He put his palms up and stepped with her, a frustrating no-win dance she didn’t appreciate. “You’re not going to keep me away from him,” she said.

While staring into Dorie’s eyes, Bret spoke to Clancy. “I take it you know this woman, Pop?”

Pop? Clancy has a son? He’d never mentioned having any family. She’d thought he was a lonely old man, a conniving lonely old man who drew unsuspecting victims into his seedy con games. At any rate, she’d never have picked this Bret fellow to be Clancy’s offspring. He was at least five inches taller than his father, and despite the catch in his walk, definitely an impressive guy. And, since everyone knew blood was thicker than water, possibly a dangerous one.

She flexed her grip around the mace and positioned the index finger of her right hand on the spray trigger in case this encounter turned into a two-against-one situation.

“He knows me all right,” she said. “Tell him, Clancy. Tell him just how well you know me.”

Bret’s face tightened into a frown of disapproval and Dorie realized how he might have interpreted her words. “Not like that!” she said. “How could you think...?”

He removed a stained Florida Marlins ball cap, pushed strands of hair off his forehead and resettled the hat low on his brow. “Let’s all calm down a minute.” He held his calloused, long-fingered hand out toward Dorie a second time. “Look, Miss...”

“My name’s Howe,” she said, keeping her hand on the trigger. “Dorinda Howe. Dorie.”

He lowered his hand again. “Dorie, I’d feel a whole lot better if you’d put away that can of pepper spray.”

She’d thought she’d concealed the canister from view. “How did you know...?”

“It’s an old habit from a previous profession. Back in those days, I never approached anyone without looking at what might be in their hands. That applies especially to unannounced visitors who seem to have a serious ax to grind about something.” He cocked his head to the side and managed a small grin. “But here’s a tip. If you want to be really sneaky with that thing, you should choose a color other than hot pink.”

Very funny. She didn’t bother explaining to him that she came from a worse-for-wear seaside village with a rowdy population and a high crime rate—a far cry from the typical Outer Banks tourist spot. Canisters of mace went fast, black being the popular seller. Maybe it was just as well he knew about her weapon. Neither of these men would try anything, knowing she could temporarily send them into fits of coughing with a couple of well-aimed bursts.

“I think I’ll hold on to it, junior,” she said. “If it’s all the same to you.”

He scowled but didn’t press her to give up her protection. “Fine, but at least put it in your pocket. I don’t want it going off accidentally.”

There was something rational and calming about the level tone of his voice, and Dorie decided to trust him that far. Besides, a damp, bitter wind had suddenly swept down from the mountaintop, and she needed both hands to zip up her parka.

Bret turned to his father. “Pop, I think you’d better tell me what’s going on.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, and glared at Clancy. “Go ahead, tell him, Pop. And while you’re filling your son in with all the details about our recent history, I’m going to be right here listening to every word just so you don’t forget to mention the exact amount of money you owe me.”

* * *

BRET HAD A bad feeling about this. In the forty-eight hours since his father had arrived without notice, nothing suspicious or sinister or even questionable had happened. Bret had allowed himself to ease into a sort of complacent acceptance of Clancy’s appearance even though gut instinct told him to keep his guard up—what he usually did when his dad was in his life. And now this—a woman about as mad as a hen in a hatbox threatening the peace and tranquility he’d come to the mountains to find. Past experience had taught him that this woman’s desperate situation, whatever the details, was probably Clancy’s fault.

He did a quick appraisal of Dorinda Howe. She had guts even if she didn’t have the stature to back them up. At a little over five feet tall, with slim legs encased in a pair of straight jeans and most of the rest of her concealed under a hood and a light parka, she didn’t look capable of tangling with a dragonfly. But looks could be deceiving. And she did come packing mace.

He glanced up at the craggy summit of Hickory Mountain. The sun had slipped toward the valley behind them. In another ten minutes nighttime would descend on the mountainside, and this little patch of land would be about as dark as any place on earth. Bret ought to be putting his tools away and securing the property from bears and raccoons while he still had some daylight. But the normally relaxed ending of his day was obviously not going to happen.

Dorie rubbed one hand up and down her arm while keeping a tense fist near the pocket where she’d put the canister.

“You’re freezing,” Bret said. “And it’s only going to get colder. We’re supposed to dip into the upper twenties tonight.”

“Doesn’t this mountain know it’s the end of March?”

He smiled.

“Whatever. I don’t plan to be here to watch the thermometer drop,” she said through chattering teeth. She glared at Clancy. “My business shouldn’t take long.”

Bret swept his arm toward the building. “Let’s go inside. I turned the furnace off this morning since I knew I’d be outside most of the day, but I can at least start a fire while we wait for the heat to kick on again.”

She studied his face a moment before eyeing the lodge with definite longing, but she didn’t take a step. “I don’t know...”

“Look, you’ll be fine. Nobody’s going to hurt you.” He jabbed a thumb in the direction of her pocket. “If anything, we’re scared of you.”

She remained still, apparently considering his promise.

“We’ll just get out of the wind while we talk this over. Besides, I don’t know about you, but I could use a cup of coffee.”

She looked one more time at both men before nodding. “Yeah, coffee sounds good. And there’s another thing...”

“Oh?”

She pointed to the lodge he’d been working on all day. “I’m hoping you have modern facilities in there.”

Understanding her concern, he said, “All the comforts of home. Plumbing included.”

She stepped back, clearing a path for Clancy. “You go first. I don’t want you behind me.”

He frowned but moved ahead of her. “And I don’t want that can of pepper spray to come out of your pocket,” he said. He stopped at the door Bret held open and looked over his shoulder. “Don’t try using that stuff on me. My son here used to be a cop.”

As Dorie followed him inside she spared a quick glance at Bret. “A cop, eh? And while you were protecting and serving your community, how many times did you arrest your own father?”

Bret let the door shut behind him. “Never had to.” His lips curled up in a grin. “We always lived in different cities.” He started to recite directions to the bathroom, but stopped when his cell phone rang. “I’ve got to take this. It’s my son, and I don’t always get clear cell service on this mountain.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

Anxious as always to hear Luke’s voice, Bret waved Dorie to the hallway bathroom. “Hey, buddy, how’s everything going?”

In a hyper, enthusiastic voice, Luke regaled his father with the latest escapades he’d enjoyed with his cousins.

“Can’t wait for you to get home tomorrow,” Bret said. He hoped his son felt even a small percentage of the longing he himself was experiencing at seeing the boy again. They had been apart almost a week now, and to Bret, that was far too long.

“Me, too, Dad,” Luke said. “But I was wondering why Aunt Julie has to bring me home tomorrow. Why not Sunday? School doesn’t start until the next day.”

Bret hid his disappointment behind parental prerogative, stopping just short of saying, “Because I said so.”

“We talked about this already, Luke. Saturday is the day Aunt Julie can come up here, and Saturday is the day you’re coming home. Okay?”

“Sure. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Bret disconnected and stacked logs in the fireplace. He struck a match and blew on the kindling, creating a nice start to a fire. Aware that his father was fiddling with the coffeemaker, he waited to see if Clancy would offer an explanation for Dorie’s accusation. But the only sounds in the room were the crackle of the flames and the hiss of the brewing machine.

Crouched in front of the hearth, Bret turned to his father and said, “I’d really appreciate it if, before she comes out of the bathroom, you’d tell me what you did to that woman.”

Clancy stared at him before taking a seat on a bench at one of the recently assembled wood picnic tables in the center of the all-purpose room. “Why are you assuming I did something to her?” he asked, doing his best to affect a tone of wounded feelings. “Maybe she did something to me. Maybe she showed up here on some crazy vigilante mission, and I’m caught in her crosshairs. Maybe...”

Bret stood, placed his hands on his hips, and fixed his gaze on the entrance to the hallway. “And maybe you owe her money like she said.”

Clancy threw his hands up. “I helped her, that’s what I did! She came into my place looking for a job, and I did her a good turn.”

Dorie stormed into the room, her jacket draped over one arm. “That’s how you’re telling this story? A person could end up homeless because of your good turns, Clancy. In fact, I practically have!”

She marched to the table. Wavy strands of wheat-colored hair fell to her shoulders. She raked her fingers through wispy bangs nearly covering eyes that snapped with blue fury and shoved her other palm under Clancy’s nose. “Give me my money. And don’t tell me you don’t have any of it left!”

He made a show of twisting around to reach into his back jeans pocket. When he pulled out his wallet, he withdrew some bills and crammed them into her hand.

Dorie stared at the pile. “That’s it? There can’t be fifty dollars here.”

“Fifty-two,” he said. “Take it or leave it.”

Dorie stuffed them in her pocket. She looked up at Bret who’d been watching the show with a pretty good idea of how it would end up. His expectations were right on. His father had been up to his old tricks. He’d obviously conned this woman somehow, and he’d run away to the mountains to lay low.

“Arrest your father, Mr. Police Officer,” Dorie said. “He’s a liar and a thief.”

“That may be so,” Bret said. “But I’m an ex-cop, remember? I can’t officially arrest anybody.”

“Well, you’ve got a problem then, junior. I’m not leaving here without my five grand.”

Bret looked at his dad. “Five grand, Pop?”

Clancy shrugged. “Can’t remember. Might have been.”

“So what are you two going to do about it?” Dorie asked.

Bret blew out a long breath. He was going to have to tell this woman that he wasn’t responsible for his father’s debts. And when he did, was he going to have to wrestle that can of mace out of her grip?

“Right now I’m going to put more wood on the fire,” he said, buying some time. The room was growing colder by the minute, but the chill he felt now had little to do with the plunging temperature outside.

CHAPTER TWO

WITH THE FIRE roaring nearby, a whisper of heat coming from the floor vents and her hands wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee which Bret had refilled twice, Dorie felt a subtle hint of encouragement seep into her bones. Tension eased from her shoulders. She let out a long breath and took an even longer one deep into her lungs.

As her body let go of some of the day’s anxiety, she made a thoughtful appraisal of Bret Donovan that went beyond his obvious good looks. He had been attentive and responsive to her story. Perhaps, she almost allowed herself to believe, even a bit sympathetic. Could she conclude now that he was nothing like his father and would do the honorable thing and make amends for what Clancy had done to her?

A few minutes ago she’d paused in relating the events which had led her to Clancy more than three months ago. She waited for Bret to respond to what he’d learned so far.

He set his coffee mug on the table. “So this company you sold the rights to, this Family Picnic Company, was your principal livelihood?” he said.

“That’s right. And along with my partner, we made a decent living.”

“So, if you don’t mind my asking, why did you sell your half to your partner?”

“I had to. I needed money.”

She didn’t elaborate about the small cottage her mother had left her when she ran off. He didn’t need to know that. The simple two-bedroom house wasn’t worth much, but Dorie was determined not to sell it. So she told him how she and her friend had started the Family Picnic Company to cater to people who wanted to host outdoor events, barbecues and such. She would hitch a wagon that carried ribs and all the makings of her secret sauce and baked beans behind her Ranger. Her partner would tow the funnel-cake-and-candy-apple cart, and they would set up anywhere folks wanted to treat friends and family to an outdoor party. Once word got around, she was busy almost every weekend.

Other than admitting she needed money, she hadn’t given Bret specific details explaining why she’d been forced to sell her only means of support. When she’d gone to work for Clancy a few months ago, she hadn’t even told him that crucial bit of information, and he hadn’t asked. Now, even if she told them, she doubted the heartless father and his ex-cop son would understand her need to pay the fees of the high-priced attorney she’d hired to defend her brother. Especially since her brother had been accused, wrongfully she believed, of participating in a shooting. The money she’d gotten from the sale of her share of the picnic company had gone to the firm of Hawkes, Schreiber and Bolger, and more was owed now.

Maybe Bret wouldn’t ask her why she needed the money. The honorable thing would be to just give her the five thousand dollars and send her down the mountain. Maybe he even had the cash squirreled away at The Crooked Spruce. The outpost was so remote, there would be little danger of theft. And a lot of people didn’t trust the bank anymore. If Bret didn’t have the cash, she’d take a check. Once she was gone, he could get Clancy to pay the money back any way he could.

“You must have needed money pretty badly to take that step,” Bret said.

“I did,” she said. “I sold my share of the business because I owed money and was obligated to pay it.” She speared Clancy with a telling look. “That’s what honest people do when they have a debt.”

He stared at the ceiling.

“Now I need what you owe me, Clancy.” Especially since I’ve found out that my financial responsibility to Jack’s defense is just beginning.

Bret sat across the picnic table from her. He put his elbows on the top and leaned forward. Those soft nut-brown eyes, which had captured her imagination an hour ago, now seemed capable of reading her thoughts. She looked down, avoiding his gaze. She’d never been in trouble with the law, but still, after what Jack had been through, she didn’t think she’d ever be comfortable under a cop’s intense scrutiny.

“So how does all this lead up to you getting a job working with my father?” he asked.

She focused on Clancy. His hands were clasped on the tabletop. His attention could have been fixed on the tiny hairs on the backs of his fingers. Since he wasn’t looking at her, maybe he was finally embarrassed about how he’d misled her. Or maybe he was trying to figure out another plan to get away with cheating her.

“You know your father owned the Crab Trap, a bar on Winston Beach?” she said to Bret.

He admitted that he was aware of his father’s business venture. “I never saw the place for myself,” he said. “For the short time my dad owned it, I was—” he stopped, glanced at his father “—I was indisposed for a while and couldn’t visit him.”

The vagueness of his answer registered as a tingle of alarm down Dorie’s spine. Maybe the ex-cop had some secrets of his own. “I had been in there a time or two after Clancy bought it,” she said. “The Crab Trap catered to a local crowd, people who had been around Winston Beach for a long time.”

“So not your typical tourist types?”

She shook her head. “Definitely not. The Trap was filled with old-timers, bikers and roughnecks, mostly.”

Bret smiled. “And one Dorinda Howe.”

“I wasn’t a regular. But the day after I sold my business, I drove by the place and saw a help-wanted sign in the window. Being unemployed at the time, I went in and applied for the waitress job.”

Clancy finally raised his head to stare at his son. “Which I gave her because of the generous nature of my character.”

Bret frowned. “Right. Go on, Dorie.”

“Oh, that much is the truth, minus the generous nature part. He gave me the job.”

“I sure did,” Clancy said. “I figured she could make the Trap the place to go for barbeque in the area, plus clean up the image a bit. A win-win for both of us.”

Dorie frowned. “But what Clancy isn’t telling you is that he had the Crab Trap up for sale at the time, which totally affected my job security. But that was okay. He had a right to sell it. Only thing is, he didn’t own the building. He was only leasing it, so he didn’t have much real property to sell. He was trying to find a buyer for his license, the equipment, which basically included the beer taps, furniture, grills and deep fryers.” She leveled an icy stare at Clancy. “And, what he calls the goodwill he’d established by running the place.”

Clancy put one finger in the air. “That’s right. Goodwill. It’s not easy to put a price on that.”

“But you did,” Dorie said. “You put a price of twenty thousand on it.”

Bret’s eyes widened. “Jeez, Pop, I only lent you three thousand to start up that business last year. Did you get twenty grand for it?”

“Of course not. That was just my asking price.” Clancy’s eyebrows came together in an insolent gesture. “I ended up getting only fifteen thousand.”

Dorie could sense the wheels turning in Bret’s head. After pausing a moment, he said, “And out of that fifteen thousand, you owed me three and Dorie five?” At least Bret was remembering his math correctly.

“And I earned every cent of it,” she said. “Your father never would have sold the Crab Trap if I hadn’t come in there and made a deal with him to turn it into a presentable establishment that would appeal to buyers.”

“What exactly did you do?” Bret asked.

“A whole lot more than any other so-called waitress would have done. I used my special recipes to bring in crowds. I changed the advertising so he’d attract a better clientele, revised the menu to include healthier food and kids’ meals. Handed out coupons all over the area so we’d attract the few tourists who actually stopped on Winston Beach.”

She looked at Clancy and was gratified to see that he was listening and didn’t appear ready to argue. “Basically I was his nutritionist, marketer and public relations department. In addition to all that, I scrubbed years’ worth of old grease off the walls,” she added.

“You did all that for a waitress’s salary?” Bret said.

“No. I’m not that gullible. What I asked in return was a regular job as the waitress with salary and tips, and a percentage of the selling price up to five thousand dollars. Clancy and I agreed that he would keep anything over five grand. At that time, five thousand was what I needed.”

“Okay. Sounds fair enough,” Bret said. “Did you get this agreement in writing?”

She fished in the pocket of the jacket beside her on the bench and produced a wrinkled envelope. After removing a one-page document which she smoothed over the surface of the table, she said, “Check it out for yourself.” She pointed to the financial terms and then to her signature and Clancy’s at the bottom. “We both signed it.”

Bret studied the paper and then looked at his father. “That’s your handwriting, Pop,” he said. “This isn’t the fanciest contract in the world, but I think it would hold up in court.”

Clancy crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. “Whose side are you on?”

“I’m on the side of what’s right. Did Dorie fulfill her part of this contract like she says?”

Clancy stubbornly stared into space for several uncomfortable seconds before finally, almost negligibly, nodding his head. It wasn’t a definitive admission, but he wasn’t denying Dorie’s story.

“Her contribution helped you sell the place?”

“I suppose.”

“You know darned well it did,” she said.

Bret shrugged. “Then you owe her, Pop. And you owe me three grand. That was the deal we made when I lent you the money.” He waited for his father’s reaction, and when the old guy didn’t so much as blink, he said, “And funny thing, Pop, when you arrived here, I asked you about the Crab Trap and you told me there had been a kitchen fire and you lost everything.”

“I might have said that,” Clancy mumbled. “But I was just stalling for time before I paid you back.”

Bret looked down as if he was used to this kind of scenario from his father. “You’ve got the money, right? I mean you obviously didn’t have it in your pocket a few minutes ago when Dorie asked for it, but you’ve got it somewhere, don’t you?”

Clancy stared blankly.

Dorie bit her bottom lip and tried not to squirm. What would she do if Clancy didn’t have the money? There was no doubt he was a weasel, but even a weasel couldn’t lose fifteen thousand dollars in a little over a week. Could he?

“Pop?”

Bret’s gaze zeroed in on his father’s eyes under the ledge of Clancy’s bushy white brows. Clancy shifted away from his son’s stare.

“The money’s in your room, isn’t it?” Bret said. “Or safely in a bank somewhere?”

Tense seconds ticked by until Clancy fisted his hands and made a sound between a moan and a snarl. “Not exactly.”

“What does that mean?”

“I had it for a while.”

Skepticism etched itself in creases around Bret’s eyes. “How long is a while? And what happened to it?”

“I didn’t come straight here after leaving Winston Beach,” he said.

“Where did you go?” Bret’s voice reflected uncertainty, as if he expected the ceiling to suddenly cave in on them. As if he’d experienced other symbolic ceilings caving in during his lifetime. “Pop?”

“I was trying to turn that money into a whole lot more,” Clancy said. “I was hoping to give you that three grand with interest.”

“Where did you go?” Bret asked again. This time the words seemed ground out of some dark place inside his memory.

“I drove up to Mountain City, West Virginia, for a few days.”

“Mountain City?” Bret closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Why did you go there?”

Dorie leaned forward, trying to read both men’s faces. “I know exactly why he went there, Bret, and so do you.”

Bret hammered his fist on the table. “Good grief, Pop. You lost that money gambling!”

“I figured I could turn that fifteen grand into five times that much. I’ve always been lucky....”

“You’ve never been lucky with dice!”

“That’s not true. Why, lots of times I’ve...”

“How much?” Bret asked. “How much have you got left?”

Clancy turned his palms up on the table as if he somehow expected riches to fall into them. “I have...well, I had fifty-two bucks.”

Dorie stood, marched around the table and loomed over him. But at only five feet three inches, her looming capabilities were limited. Still, she was gratified when he cringed.

“Fifty-two dollars?” she said, pulling the bills he’d given her earlier from her pocket. “This fifty-two dollars? This is all that’s left of fifteen thousand?”

He stared at the table. “’Fraid so. I had living expenses for that week, too. Hotels and meals...”

Her entire body tensed before a trembling began in her legs and worked its way through her. She closed her eyes, fighting the desire to strike out physically at the man whose face swam before her, but what good would that do? She’d only end up in the same sort of place she’d visited two days ago when she met with her brother in a dank, gray-walled prison room.

She pictured Jack’s face now and drew strength from the past. Since their father, a shiftless man with no ambition, had left them after Jack was born, Dorie had always been the rational child, the dependable one. Their mother stuck around until Dorie was legally an adult, and then she saw her chance and left. After that, Jack had counted on Dorie. And he needed her now more than ever.

In the visitor’s room at the Broad Creek Correctional Facility, Jack had sat across from her, his hands folded, his gaze imploring her. “What do you mean he’s gone?” he’d asked when she’d given him the bad news about their funds being missing.

“He just up and left after he signed the papers on the Crab Trap.”

“But that’s your money. You earned it!”

“I know, Jack, and I’ve spent the last five days trying to find out where he might have gone.”

His fingers tightened until his knuckles turned white. “And did you? Find out, I mean.”

“I think so. I hope so.” She’d explained about locating one of the regulars from the Crab Trap who’d spent long hours talking to Clancy about whatever old guys reminisced over. He’d been reluctant to tell her what she wanted to know, but finally relented when she made him see that Clancy had treated her unfairly.

He’d told her that Clancy had talked about going to the mountains to find someone he knew. He remembered Clancy mentioning a place called The Crooked Spruce in the Blue Ridge chain. So Dorie had searched for The Crooked Spruce on Google, and come up with one reference only. Somebody had applied for a vendor’s license for a new business in western North Carolina.

After visiting with Jack and reassuring him that she would do whatever she could to get his defense rolling again, she’d packed a bag and headed for the mountains hoping to surprise Clancy at his hideout.

Now, even though she’d found him, she’d hit an even more impenetrable stone wall. She opened her eyes to erase the image of Jack’s face—desperate, sad, knowing she was his only hope. It wasn’t fair. Just because Jack had gotten into a few scrapes, the police seemed to believe he was guilty of shooting and killing a convenience store clerk in Winston Beach. But he’d been almost as much of a victim as the clerk had. Dorie knew that. She believed his story. He was only sixteen years old, her baby brother. She’d taken care of him all his life. She wouldn’t stop now.

She let out the breath she’d been holding and fixed Clancy with her iciest stare. “You’re going to get the money,” she said. “You’re going to pay me what you owe me. I need that money.”

The only sound that registered in her brain was her own heartbeat, pumping blood furiously through her veins. She’d never known she could feel such animosity toward another human being.

Clancy didn’t blink, but she knew he was aware just how fragile her emotions were at this moment, just how close to the edge of rational behavior she felt and how precarious his situation was. He swallowed and ran a finger inside the ribbed neckline of his T-shirt. “It may take a while...” he said.

“I don’t have a while. And I’m not kidding. I’m not leaving here without five grand.”

Clancy darted a look at his son who’d remained silent. And then the old guy sort of smiled, attempting some of that charm he’d used to sucker her into revitalizing his restaurant. “Bret?” Despite his silly grin, his voice quivered on the brink of panic. “Don’t let her near the fireplace poker.”

Bret stretched out his leg, rubbed a hand over his thigh and winced. “I don’t know as I could stop her, Pop.”

“I’m not going to kill you,” she said. “How would I get my money that way? I’m just going to haunt you and threaten you and make your life miserable until I get every last cent.”

Clancy turned his hands up on the table. “I don’t know how...”

Bret rose slowly, as if even that simple movement pained him. He took a few steps toward a doorway that led from the room. “Pop, can I see you in the kitchen?”

“Sure thing.” Clancy stood and strode after his son, moving so fast that Dorie could only conclude that he was grateful to be anywhere but in the same room as her.

“Don’t even think about going out a back door,” she called after him. “You won’t get very far in the dark on this mountain. And I can run faster than you.”

Bret stood in the entry, his hand on the door. “Don’t worry. I’ll bring him back.”

She believed him. In fact, she was dangerously close to putting too much faith in this younger Donovan. He had that kind of face a person could trust, though she saw now that it wasn’t a perfect face. His complexion was ruddy from mountain winds. His eyes were crinkled at the corners from the accumulation of his life experiences, many of which Dorie suspected had been hard, especially knowing his father. Strangely, these imperfections only gave a sense of solid strength to him she could identify with.

She could imagine him assuming a commanding stance whether he was talking with his father or a suspect. Yes, with his legs braced, his shoulders back and his penetrating gaze on a person’s face, he could convince anyone to do the right thing. At least Dorie hoped so.

“We’ll be back,” Bret said. He watched his father slink into the kitchen. “And then I may just turn him over to you and a couple of hungry black bears.”

CHAPTER THREE

ALONE IN THE ROOM, Dorie wondered what she was going to do if she couldn’t squeeze five thousand dollars out of these two men. Bret must have some money, especially if he owned this entire piece of property. She allowed herself to hope that he would bail his father out of this jam.

She stifled a yawn and shook her head to clear her mind. Her brain was fuzzy from lack of sleep. She hadn’t eaten anything since this morning except for a candy bar she’d bought at the convenience store. Her bones ached from sitting behind the wheel for hours. Her emotions were frayed beyond what should have been normal even considering the abundance of stress in her life lately.

Before leaving Winston Beach seven hours ago, she’d spent most of the morning at the attorney’s office, trying to convince him to keep working on Jack’s case. Counting on finding Clancy, she’d promised the lawyer more money soon and had finally extracted a promise from him that he would pass along the paperwork he’d accumulated to a new associate in the firm who would “revisit” the facts of the case and see what he could do. Dorie hadn’t met the associate, a man named Eric Henderson, but she had to accept Mr. Schreiber’s recommendation that this new attorney was clever and hardworking. Not to mention expensive. Waiting to hear from him only added more anxiety to an already-troubling day.

She got up from the picnic table and rolled her shoulders to relieve tension that had left a dull ache in her neck. She walked around the room and tried to concentrate on details of the basically Spartan environment. Besides the pair of picnic tables, which took up much of the center of the space, there was one long, dark pine buffet table along the wall that flanked the kitchen door. The fireplace, almost large enough for two men to squat inside, filled much of the opposite wall. A comfortable pine-framed sofa and pair of chairs faced the fireplace, and a flat-screen television was mounted above it.

One of the longer walls consisted mostly of windows which looked out on the screened porch. The opposite wall was lined with pine shelving. The scent of freshly milled wood was still strong in the room, suggesting the shelves were new. There was a state-of-the-art computer on a corner table.

The ambiance of the room was masculine but peaceful, an homage to simplicity and nature. She breathed deeply, attempting to infuse her body with the tranquility of her surroundings even though there was nothing tranquil about her life now. And, as it turned out, nothing simple about what she’d come here to accomplish.

She returned her focus to the door, walked closer and tried to hear what the men were saying. Clancy’s low, guttural mumbling was easy to identify. Dorie couldn’t tell what he was saying, but his muffled words seemed argumentative.

The steady timbre of Bret’s voice was just as distinctive as his father’s but for a different reason. She wasn’t able to make out the specifics, but Bret seemed to be countering his father’s grumbling with rationality.

She exhaled slowly and leaned against the door frame. She wanted to believe that Bret would devise a plan to pay her back, but her instincts warned her to remain wary. Even so, hope began a slow, steady battle with her skepticism.

Her thoughts backtracked to when they had all entered the lodge. Bret had removed his mackinaw, hung it on a rack by the door, along with the Marlins baseball cap he’d been wearing. Maybe his cap was from Florida, but he seemed much more at home in this rugged, harsh climate.

Dorie twisted so her shoulder was against the door, her ear close to one of the dark-stained panels. The conversation inside seemed to have reached a lull, prompting her to put even more faith in Clancy’s son. If he was reasonable, she could be, as well. She wouldn’t fall into the trap of judging all police officers by the few who’d treated Jack with such overt prejudice. That would be no more justified than watching cops judge her brother by the standards of all troubled teens.

Yes, Bret would make this right. He would understand that his father had cheated her and, recognizing that their family honor was at stake, very well might assume responsibility for paying her the money his father owed. In a few minutes, with five thousand dollars in her pocket, Dorie could be on her way back to Winston Beach.

* * *

BRET PACED. It’s what he’d done back when he was on the Dade County homicide division and all the clues had been there, in front of his eyes, and he hadn’t been able to put them together. It’s what he did now when he was worried about his son, Luke, and wondered if the decision he’d made for both of them was the right one. It’s what he did when he thought of Miranda and how he could have saved her if only...

Clancy sat at the kitchen table, his hands folded, his gaze fixed on his son. They’d discussed and argued the details of the debt, and Clancy had admitted his guilt.

“Look, Bret, I know how you must be feeling. I screwed up again. I get that. When I’m able to put a few bucks in my pocket, the old demon comes back, and I just have to risk it on the bigger payoff.”

“How many times are we going to have this conversation, Pop?”

“This time is different, son. This time I really disappointed you. I’ll make it right. I’ll stay here and work on this project of yours until I pay you back the whole five grand.”

“Pay me back? Now I’m supposed to hire you on top of everything else?”

“You told me you were going to hire somebody. Why not me? I can work hard.”

Bret stopped walking, turned and faced his father. Yes, he had admitted that he’d need to hire a helper to get the camp up and running in time. And his dad did have skills. “You bet you will,” he said. “I own you until this place is open and then some.”

“Fair enough.”

Bret stared at the door. “But what about that woman out there? What do we do about her tonight?”

Clancy had the decency to look at least a bit guilty. He avoided Bret’s stare. “Maybe she’ll accept payments. I’ll send her a little every month until we’re square.”

“You think that’s going to make her happy? Because I don’t. She wants the whole thing. I can’t see her leaving this mountain without the five grand.”

Clancy seemed to shrink in his chair. “She does seem determined. Tell me, son, do you have five thousand dollars?”

Bret had known this question was coming. Still every muscle in his body tensed. His reserves were running low. He’d spent most of his savings and the majority of his disability checks to get The Crooked Spruce ready. The last thing he wanted to do was pay his dad’s debt. Yes, he had five thousand, but he wasn’t ready to admit that to his father.

“Oh, sure, Pop.” He pulled out a drawer. “It’s right here in the kitchen junk drawer!”

“I didn’t mean here at the outpost. I meant anywhere.”

“Do you know what she needs the money for?” Bret asked.

“Haven’t a clue. She said she owes somebody. All I can say is that I don’t believe she’s in trouble with bad people or anything. She was a good worker. Came in every day. Never caused any problems.”

The law enforcement wheels in Bret’s head continued to piece together the story of Dorie Howe. “Doesn’t mean she’s not into something illegal or dangerous, Pop. In my business—my former business—you learn that even the most innocent-looking people can be hiding something.” And with that can of mace and a hundred pounds of grit packed into her little body, Dorie Howe could be hiding plenty.

At the image of her pretty face scowling up at him, he couldn’t resist a secret smile. He shook his head. Good grief, Donovan, you’ve been away from women too long!

“Why don’t you check her out?” Clancy said. “Call one of your contacts from the force.”

Bret had been thinking the same thing. Dorie had proved her case, and Pop definitely owed her, but she was so desperate to get the money that Bret’s cop instincts had gone on instant alert. Did he have the right to check her out? You bet he did. She was on his mountain, mixed up in his family. He not only had the right. He had an obligation. Especially with Luke due back in the morning.

Luke. Thinking of his son brought to mind a whole different set of responsibilities. He honestly hoped the kid had had fun with his aunt and cousins the past week. He’d certainly been anxious to go, though Bret had been reluctant to agree to the time away. True, this mountain location wasn’t everything a ten-year-old could hope for. But Bret still believed he’d made the right decision to get them out of Miami, away from the bad memories.

And he’d done all he could to make the move seem like an adventure. In just a few months he’d taught his son survival skills, introduced him to tools and construction, taken him to town a couple times a week to rent video games, see movies, eat pizza. He’d thought he had all the bases covered, and yet the boy still seemed unhappy much of the time. And too excited about going to Atlanta with his aunt Julie.

He refocused on his father and the current problem. “What do you know about Dorie, Pop? Family, friends, that sort of thing.”

“Not much. I didn’t ask her a lot of personal questions when she applied for the job. She was like a saving grace when she walked in the Crab Trap that day, willing to work to put a little spit and polish on the place. A few people she knew stopped in from time to time, and they talked. I don’t know what about, but they seemed to like her. Left her good tips, I remember. I knew about that picnic company and how it was her living. But I just figured that made her more valuable to me. She knew something about food and service.”

Bret took a sip of his coffee. “I’m going to call Rob at the department,” he said. “Let’s see what we can find out about Miss Dorie Howe.” He paused before adding, “She is a ‘miss,’ right, Pop? No husband or mobster boyfriend to show up here one day?”

“Not married,” Clancy confirmed. “And if she has a boyfriend I never met him. She’s a cute little thing, though, so...”

Bret had already determined that for himself but wasn’t about to let Dorie Howe’s cuteness deter him from what he thought was right. “Never mind, Pop,” he said. “As long as some husband isn’t going to follow her up here and put another plug in me.”

“Heaven forbid,” Clancy said. “Can’t go through that again.”

Bret took his cell phone from his back pocket. “Reception is always better at night,” he said. “Less interference from the towers. I’m going to give Rob a call now. Should have info by the morning.”

“What about this evening? What are you gonna do about Dorie?”

“I’m not her keeper, Pop. But I certainly don’t want her driving that beat-up truck of hers down the mountain in the dark. And it’s freezing out there. The only place she can stay is that fleabag motel by the convenience store.” He tapped the phone against his thigh. “I’ll tell her she can stay here tonight.”

“Okay, you do that. And I’ll make sure my door’s locked.”

* * *

DORIE JUMPED WHEN the knob turned, and she quickly put a few feet between herself and the door. The men came out of the kitchen. Bret looked at her, but his face was unreadable. In fact, father and son could have been a pair of granite bookends for all the clues she could derive from their expressions. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to get good news. She stood straight, hooked her thumbs into the pockets of her jeans and said, “Well?”

His gaze never wavering, Bret rubbed his hand over the nape of his neck and said, “I need to sleep on this, Dorie. There are extenuating circumstances I need to consider.”

“What extenuating circumstances?”

“Well, for one, you can’t possibly think I have five thousand in cash in this building.”

That would be nice, but also unlikely.

“But I might have a plan.”

A plan? The only plan she was interested in was one that put five thousand dollars in the palm of her hand. She narrowed her eyes. “What are you suggesting?”

“I’m going to try to work something out that is fair to everyone.”

“Everyone?” She glared at Clancy. “I couldn’t care less about being fair to your father. He cheated me. He obviously doesn’t understand the meaning of the word fair.”

“I know it seems that way,” Bret said. “But you have to admit that I’m not responsible for his mistakes.”

Yes, she supposed she did have to admit that. But doing so wouldn’t get her the money, so she said, “What about the Donovan family honor? Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

A grin tugged at his mouth. “I think our family honor, if we ever had any, went up in smoke at the craps table in Mountain City.”

“So I’m supposed to go away and let you two ‘sleep on this’? I guarantee you I won’t be having such a good night’s sleep while you’re deciding my future.”

“About that...” Bret said. “There are no places I’d recommend for you to stay in this area. So I’m suggesting you don’t have to leave here.”

“Yeah, right. Like I’m going to stay with you two.”

“That’s exactly what I’m hoping you decide.”

She put her hand up to stop all discussion of bunking anywhere within a mile of Clancy Donovan. By morning, he’d have devised a plan to steal back the fifty bucks he’d given her. “Thanks, but no—”

“You can’t attempt the drive down the mountain in the dark, Dorie,” Bret said.

“That’s why they invented headlights.”

“Still, one wrong turn and you could end up in a gully or wrapped around an oak tree. In these temperatures, there will be icy patches, and I’m guessing you don’t have all-weather tires. You’re used to driving near the beach. This mountain is a whole different story.”

She pondered her options. She didn’t want to accept what these guys believed might pass for hospitality. The last thing she wanted was any reason to be grateful to them. One night under their roof didn’t compensate for the money Clancy owed her.

Apparently assuming her silence meant she was considering his advice, Bret continued. “You can stay here or your closest choice is the Sleep Haven Motel next to the convenience store. Did you get a good look at that place?”

She had, and she’d been glad she planned to get her money and leave for Winston Beach without a layover. The only kind of “haven” the motel appeared to offer was for roaches.

Her attention switched from son to father. Bret seemed to be sincere. And he’d more or less promised her an answer, or a plan by the morning. Clancy hadn’t looked at her since he’d come back into the room. His eyes remained fixed on a knot in the wood plank flooring.

She huffed in frustration. “Okay, I’ll stay. But I’m sleeping with one hand wrapped around my can of mace.”

Bret placed his hand over his heart. “Ouch.” And then he smiled, and she felt that sense of comfort again. And she didn’t like it all that much. A girl gets to feeling too comfortable with a man, and that’s when her life starts unraveling.

“We’re perfect gentlemen, aren’t we, Pop?” Bret said.

Finally Clancy looked up and met her gaze. “You might be, son, but I don’t think Dorie will believe it of me.”

“Anyway, I’m glad that’s settled,” Bret said, glancing over his shoulder at the kitchen door. “When I was talking to Pop just now, I opened a couple of cans of stew and set a pot on the stove to heat. It might be ready by now. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

Her mouth watered just thinking about it. “I could eat, I guess.”

“Fine. I think a meal will do us all some good. Have a seat and I’ll bring out the grub.”

She almost laughed out loud. “Grub? What is this place, junior? A Boy Scout camp?”

He gave her a serious stare. “Funny thing. That’s exactly what it used to be. But not anymore. Now it’s for grown-up Boy Scouts. Ones with money who are looking for a whole new level of merit badges.”

He went into the kitchen and Dorie wondered what he meant. What kind of a place had she wandered into?

CHAPTER FOUR

DORIE USED A thick slice of bread to soak up the last of the gravy in the bottom of her bowl. “This came out of a can?” she said when she realized Bret was staring at her, an amused expression on his face. Let him laugh if he wanted to. It wasn’t a crime to be hungry.

“Sure did. Got it at the big box store in Asheville the last time I went for supplies.

“Well, it’s good.”

The wine was good, too. Dorie had been surprised when Bret had brought out the bottle and two glasses. She’d smiled at the images of moose on the tumblers—the glasses were definitely more suited to iced tea or, as in Clancy’s case, a frothy serving of Guinness.

Bret held the bottle over Dorie’s glass, but she covered the opening with her hand. “No more for me. I need a clear head to deal with the Donovan men.”

He added an inch or two to his own glass. “Oh, come on. You don’t think we’re all that scary, do you?”

“No, I guess not.” But this place is. She stared out the window to the exterior of the porch where a single exposed lightbulb attracted hardy insects not burrowed in somewhere against the cold. Beyond the porch, the woods were black. “Does it always get so dark up here?” she asked.

“On this side of the mountain, yes. On the other side, the direction the sun sets, it stays lighter a bit longer. But this is the country. We don’t exactly have streetlights on every corner. We don’t even have corners.”

She definitely wasn’t used to outdoor living of this magnitude. Living so close to the beach when she was growing up, Dorie had gone to the ocean nearly every day, but then her mother had run off, and at eighteen, Dorie had suddenly been in charge. Her beach visits had become less frequent. The brief note her mom had left saying she was sorry, and they’d be better off without her hadn’t excused her abandonment in Dorie’s mind.

But the small wood-framed cottage her mother had purchased for the family worked just fine for Dorie and Jack and, amazingly, had been paid off a couple of years before Linda Howe’s departure. Dorie had had to borrow against the house on a couple of occasions, and she’d only been late on her loan payments a few times. Though built in the fifties, the bungalow was Dorie’s pride. The house wouldn’t last forever in the punishing sea air, but she kept the appliances up and regularly painted and repaired what needed attention. And she enjoyed the lights that illuminated her street every night.

She casually stretched to cover any sign that the darkness bothered her. Then she picked up her bowl and glass and headed toward the kitchen.

Bret rose and took the dishes from her. “I’ll take care of this.” Glancing at Clancy, he said, “On second thought, Pop, the least you can do is clean up.”

“I suppose I could.” Clancy stacked the dishes and went into the kitchen.

Dorie put on her jacket. She didn’t look forward to going outside in the cold but she needed a bag from her truck. Luckily she’d packed a change of clothes and a few grooming products just in case.

Bret gave her a quizzical look. “Where are you going? I thought we’d decided you’d stay here. I really don’t think you should drive on that road tonight.”

She almost smiled. “Worried about me, junior?”

“I’d worry about anyone foolish enough to attempt that narrow path in conditions like these.”

“Well, don’t be. I’m not going anywhere. Despite your announcement of a possible plan, we didn’t actually come up with a solution that works for me.” She fumbled with her zipper. “But a girl can only carry so much in her pocket. Mine was used for mace, so I have to get my toothbrush out of my truck.”

“Want me to go with you?”

“You’re offering to escort me a few feet out your door? I don’t think so, junior. I’m not afraid of a few fireflies.” Lies, all lies. In Dorie’s mind there could be plenty of larger creatures out there that would scare the daylights out of her.

“Leave the door open and yell out if you need me.” He covered her hand with his and helped yank the stubborn zipper to her neck. When the pulse in her wrist quickened, she pulled her hand free.

“I’m glad you’re staying,” he said.

“Yeah, well, I’m hoping you’re my fairy godfather and you’re going to slip five thousand dollars under my pillow tonight.”

“I don’t exactly keep five grand in small bills around this place,” he said.

“And I don’t believe in fairy tales.”

She went out the door and, without looking in any direction other than her truck, she dashed off the porch and flung open the passenger door. With one quick swipe, she had her pack under her arm and was running back.

Bret had settled at the picnic table again and was rubbing his thigh much as he’d done before. She set her pack on the table and sat across from him.

“What’s wrong with your leg?” she asked, surprised that she might actually care.

“Job-related injury. I’m still in recovery mode.”

“Related to your painting-and-scraping job or your cop job?”

“The latter.”

“So were you a cop here in North Carolina?” She thought that because of Jack’s involvement in a shooting, that might be an important detail to know. Maybe this ex-cop was one of the good ones, and she could actually tell him why she needed the money and how Jack had been treated so unfairly by the police in Winston Beach. On the other hand, maybe he was part of some brotherhood of North Carolina cops and wouldn’t feel a bit of sympathy for Jack. Because the local police believed Jack was guilty, Bret automatically would, as well.

“Miami,” he said without adding details.

“And so you gave up the excitement of police work in a city like Miami, Florida, to commune with nature?”

“I moved here because I wasn’t crazy about working a desk job,” he said. “Among other reasons.”

Earlier, she’d come up with a few explanations for his hermitlike existence—an unfavorable internal affairs incident at his old job, a love gone sour or being stalked by a vengeful parolee he’d put away. Now, hearing this scant bit of information, she figured he was in the mountains because he’d suffered an injury and could no longer serve as an active-duty police officer. That had to be tough.

“So what is your purpose here?” she asked. “Besides peeling off old paint?”

“That’s just part of what I’ve done to this place,” he said. “And what I still need to do. The Crooked Spruce is more or less the realization of a dream of mine. I don’t know if you looked around when you first drove up, but the property extends for a couple of acres. There are a few rudimentary cabins out back of this one. An old bathhouse and a shed. The buildings are pretty weathered but still stable enough.”

Once she’d arrived on Crooked Spruce property, she hadn’t seen anything but the main building and Bret Donovan up on the ladder. Still, after Bret’s description, she didn’t think she’d missed much. “So this really was an old Boy-Scout camp?” she said.

He nodded. “It was closed down almost thirty years ago when attendance fell off. The state of North Carolina took over the deed and held on to the acreage. Why, I don’t know. They didn’t do much to beautify the place. But I guess even the minimal upkeep needed to stop the structures from falling down wasn’t justified, so some bureaucrat up in Raleigh convinced the state to put the place up for sale about a year ago.”

“And you bought it?”

“I did.”

“Cops make pretty good money in Miami, I guess.”

“We make a little higher than the national average, but I had only saved enough for a down payment on the property.” He leveled his index finger against his brow. “I’m up to here in mortgage debt. And I’ve just about maxed out my credit cards.”

She was sorry to hear that, for Jack’s sake, but couldn’t help pointing out the obvious. “But you had enough to loan Clancy three grand when he needed it.”

“Yeah. I wish I still had it. I didn’t realize how much fixing this place up would set me back. If I had that three grand now I’d hire plumbers and carpenters, and other experts who wouldn’t have to dance around the code-enforcement guys.” He shook his head. “Never mind. I’m learning a lot thanks to the library of do-it-yourself books I’ve collected in the past few months. And they know me pretty well at the Home Depot.”

“I guess you’re not planning on bringing back the Boy Scouts.”

“Not hardly. The Boy Scouts haven’t been interested in this property in years. No reason to think they would be now.”

Dorie looked around the lodge room. “This must have been the main structure.”

“Yep. The kitchen was here when I bought the place. I put in the fireplace and shelves and bought the furniture.”

“It’s kind of a shame, you know,” Dorie said. “I would think all this woodsy-ness and outdoor living would still attract young people. But I read somewhere that there aren’t as many Boy Scouts as there used to be.”

“I read that, too.”

“Too bad,” she said. “In my opinion, that leaves a void that should be filled somehow. Kids need guidance, even if it’s not from a parent.” She paused. “Especially if they don’t have parents.” She thought of Jack and how staying in a place like this might have helped him on his road to adulthood. Under the mentorship of a good adult he might have learned responsibility and finished high school. He might have been saved.

“Maybe so, but it won’t be filled by me. I’m catering to an entirely different clientele. Grown-ups with money, I hope.”

She stared out the window where the bugs had increased in number and were circling the lightbulb in a frenetic search for warmth. Right. Rich people with designer insect repellent were going to flock to this backwoods location. “You know, junior, this isn’t exactly the Ritz-Carlton.”

He frowned. “Would you quit calling me junior? I told you my name’s Bret.”

“Okay, Bret.”

“And this wasn’t meant to be the Ritz-Carlton. It’s an outpost.”

“Which is what exactly?”

He explained the dual purpose of his camp. An outpost was a sort of refuge for folks on the trail, a spot where they could shower and sleep one night in a bed. But The Crooked Spruce would also serve as an outfitter’s store, a place where hikers could purchase gear they had forgotten or suddenly decided they needed.

“So what’s your plan for attracting the jet-set crowd?” she asked.

“I’m planning to cash in on one of the latest fads of corporate ladder climbers.”

She snickered. “What fad is that? CEOs like freeze-dried food and sleeping bags now?”

He shrugged. “As a matter of fact, they do. Believe it or not, Dorie, guys like to prove their mettle on the open trail under seemingly harsh conditions.”

“Seemingly harsh?”

“Oh, sure. The weather, the setting, the wildlife. All that can be harsh, but comfort is only a matter of the gear you invest in.”

“And where do you find these adventurous CEOs?”

He proceeded to tell her how he hoped to market his new enterprise by saturating the internet with advertising about his Blue Ridge Mountain outback experience. He’d started to put together a list of sites frequented by over-stressed executives and people looking for a different vacation experience, one that got them about as far away from city life as possible.

“This part of the Blue Ridge, what’s called the old Timber Gap Trail, is just far enough from the well-traveled Appalachian Trail to be tempting to men wanting to hone their survival skills,” he explained. “On this mountain you won’t find campers every few hundred yards, so the guys who’ll come here are on their own until they hit The Crooked Spruce.”

“And you think that’s what the modern executive is after?” She gave him a skeptical look. “What makes you think the Caribbean or Europe isn’t their destination of choice?”

His eyes burned with a secret enthusiasm she had yet to fathom. “Look at all the reality shows on TV now,” he said. “Bosses disguising themselves as workers, millionaires going into ghettos, normal suburbanites taking on survival experiences. I’m telling you, the modern man secretly yearns to explore his wild side.”

His excitement might have been infectious, but no way did Dorie believe folks used to comfort and convenience would enjoy trekking across a mountain that barely allowed her pickup to climb it. Still, she had seen some of those television shows and the guys who attempted a less civilized life didn’t want to come across as weak.

“Maybe those execs you hope to attract will get a kick out of a night or two under the stars,” she said. “But I’m thinking that when their tootsies start to chafe in the cold and they find something curled up next to them in a sleeping bag, they’ll hightail it back to Asheville.”

“That’s where the outfitter plan comes in,” Bret said. He pointed to the shelves lining one wall. “I’m going to fill those shelves with everything the guys might have neglected to buy in the first place, or replacements for anything that proved disappointing.” He enumerated on the fingers of his left hand. “All kinds of camping gear, warm clothing, meal packs, tools...”

“Snake antivenom.”

He ignored the comment. “Sleeping bags...”

“Three-hundred-dollar sleeping bags, I’ll bet,” she said.

“Right. And once the cabins are fixed up, I’ll have the facilities for warm beds and hot meals.” He leaned forward, his gaze intent on her face. “It’s my firm conviction, and my hope, that once the city boys get partway down the trail, they’ll spend whatever they have to in order to make it all the way to trail’s end and not come off looking like they don’t have what it takes.”

“So the success of your little venture depends on the macho stubbornness of your customers combined with an inbred inability to adapt to this environment.” She raised her eyebrows and added, “And the extravagant use of their credit cards.”

He gave her an admiring stare, apparently impressed that she’d zeroed in on the brilliance of his plan right away. In a way, the idea was brilliant if one didn’t consider that Bret Donovan had inherited the same scheming genes that dominated his father’s actions. But at least junior’s plan was legal, and he was only bilking those who could afford it.

“You think it will work?” he asked.

He wanted her opinion? Well, okay. She had one. “Maybe. There could be enough Paul Bunyan wannabes out there who might find your wilderness experience satisfying.” He started to respond, but she held up her hand. “But, honestly? I just don’t see the point.”

“What do you mean?”

She considered not telling him. She didn’t want to make an enemy of Bret Donovan. She needed him to make good on his father’s debt, but he had asked.

“Nothing,” she said. “I was just thinking that this place probably was a pretty good Boy Scout camp.”

“I imagine so,” he said. “And I don’t disagree with you that places like The Crooked Spruce could help shape young lives. I’ve seen enough troubled kids in my former profession who might have benefited from the responsibility and work ethic that a youth camp could provide, but I’ve moved on from that life and its problems. And I wasn’t responsible for the Boy Scouts leaving. So if they don’t want to come here anymore, why shouldn’t I take advantage of what they left behind?

“Bottom line,” he said. “The Crooked Spruce is mine now. I need to make a living, and this is what I want to do. This may have been a decent Boy Scout camp, but it’s going to be an even better outfitters.”

“Yes, it will. Still it’s kind of a shame....”

“Dorie, I can’t fix people. Lately I’ve barely been able to fix myself.”

She shrugged. “Fine. Good luck. Now where do you suggest I bunk tonight?”

“Pop and I sleep on the second floor. But you’ll be staying in the spare room down here.” He pointed toward the hallway where she’d gone to use the bathroom. “It’s the last door down on the right. Technically it’s a storeroom right now, but there’s a bed in there. Not fancy, but it’s clean. You can use the bathroom down here and avoid bumping into Pop and me.”

“All right.”

He walked slowly to the kitchen, favoring his right leg. Obviously the inactivity of the past few minutes had affected him. Before going in, he stopped and turned back to her. “I hope we can work this out,” he said. “What happened to you isn’t right.”

“We agree on that.” She waited for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, she said, “So you never told me what’s wrong with your leg.”

He paused as if debating whether or not to tell her. Finally he sighed and said, “A few months ago, when I was still a cop, I got shot in a botched liquor-store robbery.”

She couldn’t control her reaction. A startled cry came from her throat.

“I know,” he said. “Sounds like a cliché, doesn’t it? Liquor-store robbery in the middle of the night. But it happened. And I got a bullet in my thigh for my troubles.”

Her mind flashed back to the details of Jack’s case. A convenience store robbery. Three teenagers. One gun. A downed store clerk. She flinched.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said, misinterpreting her reaction. “I’m getting better every day. You know the worst part? The shooter only got a light sentence. He’ll be out in three years if he doesn’t screw up.”

He stared around the room, a faraway look in his eyes. “So, yeah, The Crooked Spruce used to be a Boy Scout camp, but here’s some irony for you that came out in the trial. The guy who popped me was once an eagle scout. Had more medals than a five-star general. Guess you never can tell about people.”

She didn’t know how to respond. It was a crazy bit of irony.

He could have gone into the kitchen, but instead he held up one finger. “One more thing.”

“Yeah?”

“You got anything against kids?”

“Of course not. Why?”

“My ten-year-old son’s due back tomorrow. He’s been staying with my sister over spring break from school. He’s a good boy. Quiet. Won’t bother you too much.”

“I don’t have a problem with that...if I’m still around when he gets here.”

“Okay, then. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

Dorie looked at the door after Bret had closed it. Questions flooded her mind. How did a ten-year-old like living on this mountain? Where was the boy’s mother? What kind of a father was Bret? She came to the same conclusion she often did about children who lived with only one parent. They were luckier than those who had none at all.

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