Authors: Shannon Stacey
She liked that about him. It was one of the many things she liked about him, actually ranking right up there with his smile and his sense of humor and the way he treated Cocoa. She shifted a little away from him as he slid the dish towel through its plastic loop. She also liked the way he smelled and his height and his shoulders and . . .
“I need to sit my butt down at the computer some more,” she said rather abruptly, in an effort to derail her train of thought. “But first, I’m going to go check on the horses.
Cinnamon’s been kicking at her stall and I need to keep an eye on the door. Make sure she’s not weakening the structure. If I can’t figure out why she’s agitated, I’ll have to call Beverly.”
Beverly Jacobson owned the horses, and Gretchen never made any assumptions when it came to their care. She figured Cinnamon was probably bored or there was a particularly persistent fly bothering her, but she couldn’t be sure. Gretchen gave the Jacobson family frequent updates by email, but if she thought there might be a problem, she called Beverly right away.
“Maybe she’s bored,” Gram suggested.
“I don’t know. I follow Beverly’s instructions on exercising them and stuff. Maybe she misses them and wants to go for a ride.”
“Do you two ladies ride?” Alex asked.
“Not me,” Gram said. “I got thrown as a kid and after I hit the ground, the damn beast kicked me in the shoulder. I’m not a fan of horses.”
“I ride well enough to take them for short trips out, but Beverly prefers they not become too accustomed to anybody else’s riding style.” She shrugged. “She’s got some hang-ups when it comes to her horses, but she pays us well to take care of them, so I just do what the lady says.”
“You want some help? Checking out her stall, I mean.”
No, she didn’t really want to be alone in the barn with him. Feeling too comfortable with him was a bad idea, because then she might be tempted to do something really stupid, like touch him. “No thanks. It won’t take me long.”
He looked at her for a few seemingly endless seconds, until she had to fight to keep from squirming. It was as
though he knew what she was thinking, and wanted to call her on it. “Okay. Let me know if you change your mind.”
Gretchen nodded and went to shove her feet into her boots. She didn’t have time to wonder what Alex Murphy was thinking about. She had to get the horses taken care of and the bookkeeping done if she was going to reward herself with watching her movie.
—
A
lex deleted the last three sentences he’d written and then stared at the blinking cursor. He was a storyteller at heart. It just happened that telling those stories through photographs came more naturally to him than telling them with words. He could usually put together a compelling piece, though, and frustration made him tap his fingers next to the touch pad.
Rather than keep trying to force general background information on Stewart Mills into interesting and cohesive paragraphs, he saved the file and closed the laptop. He should probably take another look at the photos he’d been snapping. At the end of each day, he did a quick run-through, discarding the hundreds that weren’t quite right. But then—after a cooling-off period—he’d do another pass, magnifying each photo to analyze the detail and composition. Then he’d sort them between two folders—one for possible inclusion, depending on how long the project turned out to be, and one for shots that spoke to him on an emotional level and would almost certainly be used.
Tonight, though, he was restless. Tired of being in his room—even though it had been only a couple of hours—and
tired of being wrapped up in his own head, he stood and put the computer on top of the dresser. Then he stretched his arms up over his head, twisting at the waist one way and then the other to ease the kink in his back.
Since he hadn’t heard the floor creak or the click of Cocoa’s nails, he knew Ida hadn’t gone to bed yet. He’d go downstairs and visit for a while, he decided, and maybe grab himself a snack.
Gretchen had been working at the computer when he went upstairs, and he could tell by her posture she didn’t enjoy whatever she was doing. She’d been hunched over the keyboard, her shoulders tense as she stared at the screen and occasionally poked at it.
She wasn’t at the desk when he came downstairs, though. Instead, she was on the couch with her feet up on the coffee table and Cocoa’s head on her lap. Gretchen was idly scratching the dog’s belly while Ida sat in her rocker, knitting and watching the television.
“Bourne, huh?” he asked when he reached the bottom of the stairs, and all three of them turned to look at him.
“Gretchen knows every line of this movie by heart,” Ida said, shaking her head. “Heck, I think even Cocoa knows every line of this movie.”
“I like a woman who likes Jason Bourne.” He said it playfully, but he didn’t miss the way Gretchen’s cheeks flushed as she yanked her gaze back to the TV screen.
“Sit down, then, and watch it,” Ida said. “I’ll be going upstairs soon, so you can keep Gretchen company.”
That didn’t sound like a bad way to spend the evening. He sat on the open end of the couch and chuckled when
Cocoa stretched her body out so her back paws were touching his thigh. She wasn’t willing to take her head off of Gretchen’s lap, but she wanted to give him some love, too.
“I’m never going to get her upstairs with me,” Ida said, giving the dog an affectionate glance before she resumed her knitting.
Alex leaned his head back against the sofa and looked at the television screen. He liked their couch a lot. Maybe it was because Gretchen was tall, as her grandfather had been, but it had a high back on it. Too often sofa cushions stopped just below his shoulders and he couldn’t relax his neck.
He’d seen the Bourne movies often enough that he had no trouble dropping into this one despite its being almost halfway over, and he decided immediately that closing up his laptop had been the right idea.
He’d come back to Stewart Mills, in part, to fight that feeling of burning out. Relaxing with a good movie and good company was exactly what he was
supposed
to be doing, he reminded himself.
Ida made it only another fifteen minutes before she yawned and stood up. “I’m going to head up now, and maybe knit in bed for a little while. Come on, Cocoa. Time to go outside.”
The dog pretended she didn’t hear her, but Alex could tell by the way Cocoa pushed against him with her feet that she was awake and knew it was bedtime. When Ida said her name again, she whimpered a little and tried to burrow her head under Gretchen’s thigh.
“I’ll bring her up with me, Gram.” Gretchen stroked her chocolate-colored fur. “I’ll put her outside when the
movie’s over and then let her into your room when I go up to bed.”
“She’s turning into a spoiled brat,” Ida said, but she crossed over to give Cocoa a quick belly rub. The Lab held up her paw for a good-night high five. “Good night, all.”
As soon as Ida went up the stairs alone, Cocoa heaved a contented sigh and stretched out again. Alex idly stroked her side and hip while watching a particularly well-done car chase scene play out across the television screen. He could get used to this.
During a lull in the action, Gretchen managed to get herself out from under Cocoa’s head and went to the kitchen. A few minutes later, she returned with a couple of peanut butter cookies for herself and a small treat for Cocoa. And she handed him a small cluster of the seedless green grapes he liked to snack on. They were hydrating, a little sweet and just satisfying enough to keep him from snacking on other things. Like peanut butter cookies.
“Thanks,” he said, taking the grapes from her and popping one into his mouth.
After a minute, he glanced over just in time to see Gretchen’s tongue flick out and catch a crumb from her lip. He told himself the pang of yearning that hit him was nothing but baked goods envy, but he suspected they could switch food and he’d still want to watch her mouth.
Once he’d satisfied the urge to snack—which was the only urge he had any intention of satisfying in the near future—he put the branch of empty stems on the side table and rested his head against the couch again. He was tired, but he knew the rest of the movie was action-packed
enough to keep him awake, no matter how many times he’d seen it. He was afraid if he fell asleep and started snoring, Gretchen might leave him there and he’d wake up at three in the morning, stiff and barely able to move.
He also didn’t want to sleep right now, because he was enjoying himself too much. Sure, he’d seen the movie before. And Gretchen wasn’t one for a lot of conversation. But the silence was companionable, not awkward, and every once in a while she’d make a comment about an action sequence or chuckle at an improbable stunt. It was nice, hanging out together with the dog between them.
He rubbed Cocoa’s side, loving the feel of her fur under his hand. She was snoring a little, which amused him, and every so often her foot would twitch against his thigh.
They were heading into the big action finale when his fingers and Gretchen’s brushed together at the middle of Cocoa’s back. She jerked her hand away, which startled Cocoa. The Lab sat up and looked around, as if searching for whatever had disturbed her, and then turned to Alex.
“Sorry, girl,” he said. “Maybe just one back rub at a time.”
Gretchen smiled as Cocoa sighed and resumed her former position, but Alex noticed she concentrated on scratching behind the dog’s ears, and her hand didn’t wander past Cocoa’s neck again.
When the movie was over, Gretchen went outside with Cocoa while Alex threw away his grape stems and poured himself a glass of water. He sipped it slowly, watching the dog run around the backyard while Gretchen made exaggerated gestures he assumed translated to
Just pee already, so we can go to bed
.
When they finally came in, Gretchen looked slightly
surprised to see him, as if she’d expected him to be upstairs already. After locking the door, she kicked her shoes off. “We’re going upstairs, so . . . good night.”
“Good night.” Cocoa trotted over to him for a high five. “See you bright and early in the morning.”
“Watch it. You’re starting to sound like a farm boy.”
He snorted. “That’s not likely.”
She gave him a tight smile and then called the dog to her. Alex watched them leave and then dumped the rest of the water down the drain. He might be enjoying his time at the Walker farm, but he didn’t have it in him to be a farm boy. A man could only take so many pictures of horses and a
tractor.
O
n Wednesday, Gretchen slid into the booth next to Kelly and across from Jen with a happy sigh of anticipation. It wasn’t often all three of them were free to meet for a nice meal, so when Kelly had texted them about lunch at O’Rourke’s, she hadn’t even hesitated before texting back that she’d be there.
“I’ve been thinking about O’Rourke’s cheeseburgers since I got your text,” she said before taking a sip of the soda they’d ordered for her.
“I love their burgers,” Kelly agreed. “Chase had one the other day and, when he told me about it, the craving kicked in.”
“Craving?” Jen raised an eyebrow.
“Not
that
kind of craving. You know we’re not even thinking about a family until he’s done in New Jersey. I’ve just desperately wanted a burger since he told me
he
had
one. He said Alex had a salad, which I don’t get at all. Who goes to a restaurant and has nothing but a salad?”
“I can have a salad at home,” Jen agreed.
Gretchen just unrolled her silverware from her napkin and said nothing. Alex probably didn’t consider his weight gain and subsequent loss some kind of deep, dark secret, but it was still his business to share or not. And she didn’t really want her friends thinking they were hanging around having heart-to-heart discussions.
Jen leaned toward her, squinting a little in the subdued lighting. “Are you getting enough sleep?”
No, she wasn’t, but she forced a casual laugh. “Thanks a lot.”
“What’s keeping you up late, huh?” Kelly actually nudged her in the ribs with her elbow.
They couldn’t possibly think she was sleeping with Alex. But, judging by the way they were both looking at her so expectantly, that’s exactly what they appeared to be thinking. And they wanted details.
Even if she were willing to spill, the only detail she had was the fact that their hands had accidentally touched while petting the dog, and she’d jerked away from him like he had the plague. Not one of her finer moments, and certainly not one she particularly cared to share.
Gretchen got a short reprieve from answering while they ordered their lunches, and she jumped in with a new topic as soon as their server walked away. “Alex said he’s gotten some great photos of the team. Said Coach has a good crop of kids to work with.”
“Alex said, huh?” Jen smiled. “Does he have anything to do with why you’re not getting enough sleep?”
She forced herself to remain expressionless. “Since Alex is currently living in my house, we’ve had plenty of opportunity to talk about the football team during daylight hours.”
“Just seems funny we were talking about you not sleeping and he was the next person you mentioned.”
“
You
were talking about me not sleeping.
I
was talking about the football team. Kelly’s dad is the coach. Two plus two, Miss Cooper.” They both just looked at her and waited. “Fine. He’s attractive. I haven’t . . . dated, in a while. There might be a little insomnia and they might be connected.”
“Oh, bummer.” Kelly sighed. “I was hoping you weren’t sleeping because you were
with
him, not because you’re
not
with him.”
“I’m not going to be with him, either,” Gretchen said vehemently. “It would be way too awkward with him living in the house. He and Gram are already buddies and Cocoa thinks he’s her human Prince Charming on two legs. If things were anything more than landlord and tenant between us, it could get messy.”
“Some itches just have to be scratched,” Jen said.
Gretchen wanted to ask her friend when the last time was that she’d practiced that particular bit of preaching, but she remembered just in time that Jen had had sex with Sam Leavitt while he was home for Eagles Fest, and Jen did
not
want to talk about that. They were all supposed to pretend it never happened.
The server brought their plates, and after she walked away, Gretchen dumped a huge puddle of ketchup next to her fries. “Once Alex is gone, I might make more of an effort to get out once in a while. I think the guy at the auto parts store is interested, but he’s afraid to make a move.”
“Because you’re putting off a
stay away
signal, maybe?” Jen posed it as a question, but Gretchen knew it wasn’t meant that way.
Kelly let her soda cup down with a thump. “Gretchen, you need to let a guy open your pickle jar once in a while.”
Gretchen gave her a sideways look. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days? Because, trust me, I wouldn’t
mind
a guy opening my pickle jar once in a while.”
“There’s an electric can opener joke in there somewhere,” Jen said.
Kelly rolled her eyes. “I mean you need to
literally
let a guy open your pickle jar.”
“I don’t get it.” Gretchen used her straw to stir the ice in her drink. “That actually made more sense as a really bad euphemism for sex.”
“You’re so strong and capable that guys probably feel useless around you.”
“So I should pretend to be so weak that I can’t open a jar of pickles just so he can feel strong and manly?” Gretchen snorted. “Does Chase open your pickles?”
“No.” Kelly sighed. “The last time I gave him a jar of pickles to open, he couldn’t do it and he didn’t want to admit it, so he tried knocking the lid against the counter to break the seal. He broke the seal
and
the jar, and we were finding sticky spots on the floor for three days. And the apartment smelled like a deli.”
“I never buy pickles,” Jen said, stealing a fry from Kelly’s plate. “Now I know what to tell my mom when she asks why I’m still single.”
Gretchen laughed. “Maybe you need to wander around town with a jar of pickles until some strong, handsome
man opens it for you and proves he’s your true love. Like Cinderella’s slipper, only with pickles.”
“You guys are idiots,” Kelly muttered. “Look, I’m a police officer. That can be intimidating to some men, in the same way Gretchen can be intimidating. It’s not about being weak. I think it’s just nice to show a softer side once in a while, and let him flex his biceps.”
“First Gram tries to pawn her Cherry Hot Pants lipstick off on me and now this. It’s like getting relationship advice from 1956.”
“That shade of lipstick sounds like it would be great with your coloring,” Kelly said.
Gretchen shoved a fry in her mouth so she had an excuse not to respond. She certainly wasn’t going to tell them she’d been playing with her grandmother’s makeup basket, best friends or not. They’d have her at Jen’s house, hot rollers in her hair and goop on her face, before she’d even finished chewing her lunch.
“We should make a day trip to the mall for makeovers,” Jen said. “Get our hair done. Let the women at the makeup counter practice on us. It would be fun.”
To Gretchen, it sounded about as much fun as scraping chicken shit off the bottom of her boots, but Kelly got excited. That worked, since it meant Gretchen could sit back and relax—and not talk about Alex—while the other two talked about mascara and trying on shoes and all sorts of mall-related things.
As she tuned them out and dredged a fry through ketchup, an old memory resurfaced in Gretchen’s mind. She wasn’t sure how old she’d been, but she hadn’t been with her grandparents very long. Sitting at the kitchen
table, she’d watched their marital banter with a mixture of awe and confusion. Her parents had rarely spoken to each other with affection or teasing in their voices.
Gram had handed Gramps a jar of preserves and asked him to open it for her. Her grandfather had made a big deal out of breaking the seal, and Gram had given him a flirty smile and run her hand up his arm before taking the jar back. Then Gramps had slapped Gram on the butt and made her giggle.
Maybe there was something to the pickle jar theory, after all.
—
A
fter spending several hours taking background shots of the town square and the old covered bridge, Alex was packing his gear in the back of the Jeep when he heard footsteps in the loose gravel behind him. He turned and then almost took a step backward when he saw that it was Edna Beecher.
She was a tiny scrap of a woman, but fierce. And very scary. And the worst part of it was, she’d been ancient for as long as he could remember, so being rude and getting in the Jeep to drive away wasn’t an option. He tried his damnedest to respect his elders, even the Wicked Witch of Stewart Mills.
“Hi, Miss Beecher.”
“I’ve got my eye on you, young man,” she said, glaring as if he’d actually done something wrong. “And so does the FBI.”
If he hadn’t been raised in town, that might have set off some alarm bells. Edna had been ratting out her fellow citizens to the FBI since before he was born, though, so
he was pretty sure the only people who cared were the poor agents who had to field the nuisance calls. “I’ll keep that in mind should I decide to change career paths to something more criminal.”
“More criminal than stalking? And taking pictures of young people?”
The sense of mild amusement with which he’d been regarding Edna evaporated instantly. “What exactly did you tell them?”
Her mouth tightened and she narrowed her eyes in a squinty way that reminded him of the old westerns his stepfather liked. Facing down the villain in the street at high noon. “I told them you’re suspicious. And that you’re taking photographs of the young boys.”
Forcing himself to stay calm, he kept his voice level. “And did you also happen to mention to the FBI that it’s my job to take photographs?”
“You were skulking.”
“Miss Beecher, I
never
skulk. There are valid reasons, however, for a photographer to try to stay on the fringes and mostly out of sight. The most important reason being so that I don’t distract the people I’m photographing from what they’re doing.”
“You can put whatever fancy spin on it you want, young man. I’m watching you. And so are they.”
She turned and walked away, leaving him staring after her and feeling as though he’d just been run over by a truck. Did she have any idea of the destruction that kind of accusation could cause in his life?
After considering his options, he got into his Jeep and drove directly to the police station. Maybe they’d all been
doing their community a disservice by humoring the woman for so many years, or maybe he was simply the first person with something to lose by her ridiculous accusation. Either way, he wasn’t going to smile and pat her on the head.
As luck would have it, Kelly was pouring herself a coffee when he walked through the front door. Stewart Mills was in the process of planning a remodel to secure the entryway, requiring everybody who visited to be buzzed in, but for now he was free to walk right over to her.
“Hey, Alex.”
“Good afternoon, Officer McDonnell.” It was still hard to believe Coach’s daughter had grown up to be a cop, so they had a lot of fun calling her that during Eagles Fest. Especially the night she’d caught them breaking into the high school to look at their trophy. His memory of the night was a little hazy, but he liked to think that was Chase’s idea.
Kelly tilted her head, and then laughed. “That sounds very official.”
“Actually, I
am
here on police business.”
“Then come on over to my desk and sit down. Unless you’d rather talk to somebody else. I have a personal relationship with a friend of yours, so no hard feelings if you’d rather talk to Dylan—uh, Officer Clark. Or even the chief.”
“You’ll do fine.” He followed her to her desk and then sat on the metal visitor’s chair across from her. “Edna Beecher told the FBI I’m skulking around suspiciously, taking pictures of young boys.”
Kelly tried to hide her amusement, but the corners of her mouth gave her away. “Nobody takes Edna seriously, even—or maybe
especially
—the FBI. You know that.”
“I just don’t want rumors I’m stalking teen boys with
my camera going around the Internet, you know? I have a professional reputation. I’m on a scholarship committee and several award panels.”
“If it makes you feel any better, we did get a phone call from them almost immediately, since there are kids involved. I talked to the agent myself and that’s the end of it. I promise.”
“Kelly, with the way social media is nowadays, if I get tarred with that brush, I may never totally shake it.”
“I understand that. Edna limits her interaction to the FBI. I know for a fact she thinks the Internet is run by the Communists trying to plant subliminal messages in our brains and won’t go near it. And I personally
know
the FBI special agent I spoke to. She’ll make a note in Edna’s file and forget it. Because I vouched for you, she probably won’t even do a Google search, never mind dig around. This is a dead end.”
He still wasn’t thrilled about it, but he didn’t really have any choice but to trust Kelly. And there was nothing else he could do, anyway. “Thank you. And the Communists? She does know what year it is, right? Can you do some kind of mandatory psych testing on her?”
Kelly sighed. “She’s a pain in the ass, but she’s a pain in the ass of sound mind and body.”
“How old is she, anyway?”
“I only know her birth year through official law enforcement documents, which means I can’t tell you. Sorry.” She grinned. “We should
all
hope to live so long, though.”
“If you hear anything else about my alleged skulking, or if you get any kind of inquiry, I’d appreciate a heads-up. I know things can get messy for you, with people you know asking favors, but I’m going to ask it, anyway.”
“Alex, if I think somebody might take a serious look at you, I’ll tell you. But it’s not going to happen.”
He stood and shook her hand. It seemed a little weird, since she was Coach’s daughter and engaged to a friend of his, but he’d come on official business and she was in uniform. “I appreciate it. I guess I’ll head back to the farm and go through the photos I took today.”
“Tell Gretchen I said hi. And Gram.”
“I will.”
He stopped for gas in town and had almost managed to shove the Edna Beecher incident out of his mind by the time he hit the turnoff for the farm. As he pulled up to the house, he slowed down because Cocoa was out and, though she wouldn’t run in front of the Jeep, he needed to keep an eye on her. Sometimes her enthusiasm was stronger than her common sense.