“For a small thing, you’re one helluva woman,” he admitted, earning a grin that revealed white teeth that looked perfect for lightly nipping sensitive places.
“And for a tough-talking grouch, you’re…not bad, either.” She laughed at his chagrined expression at being called a grouch but the sound of her laughter coaxed a smile out of him. She sobered and he sensed she felt the tension between them just as keenly as he did but was fighting it twice as hard, which was saying something. A hunger to taste, touch and feel the petite firecracker demurely dressed in peach and white made his hands clench but he restrained himself. She seemed disappointed but stepped away, putting a respectable distance between them. “Thanks for doing this,” she said. “I know it wasn’t easy.”
“If I finally get some answers…it was worth it.”
And that was the truth.
She needed to work on that. And while she was at it, she ought to work on the wicked attraction growing between them. She couldn’t allow herself to slip and let her hormones take the driver’s seat.
Properly reminded of her motivation, she walked into her office and found two police officers waiting in the reception area. Nancy’s apprehensive expression didn’t bode well.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
Nancy gestured to the police officers. “These gentlemen said they need to speak with you. I couldn’t reach you on your cell….”
She grimaced as she remembered switching her cell off before her interview with Owen. She hadn’t wanted to be interrupted. “I was out of cell range,” she explained, smiling pleasantly as she gestured toward her office. “I’d be happy to speak with you. Follow me.”
She led them to her office and closed the door for privacy. Her smile remained but an apprehensive quiver had begun in her stomach. “What can I do for you?”
The first officer pulled out a small notepad as he asked in a stern voice, “How did you know William H. Dearborn?”
She settled in her chair, her mind working furiously, though she remained impassive. Why were they asking about Dearborn? Finding the old recluse had been a coup in her research. Getting him to talk about his experience at Red Meadows had been like winning the lottery. But the way the officers were eyeing her, she had a distinct feeling something bad had happened to the old coot. “Well, I wouldn’t say that I know him, per se, but I’ve talked to him casually about a story I was working on,” she said, being purposefully vague. “Why?”
“When was the last time you saw him?” the officer said, ignoring her question.
She made a show of searching her memory, though in truth she knew the exact date. “Oh, gosh…let me see, maybe a month ago, I guess. Is something wrong?”
“I’d say. He’s dead.”
Dead? She suppressed a shudder as a goose tripped over her grave. She didn’t like dead things. “I’m assuming since you’re here it wasn’t natural causes and you’re chasing down any leads and because I had contact with him, you’re zeroing in on me?”
“Something like that.”
“Well, I’m an open book. Ask whatever you like. I’m terribly sorry to hear about Mr. Dearborn, though. I hope you catch whoever did this. He was a nice man, once you got past the twelve-gauge shotgun aimed at your face.”
“He threatened you?”
She laughed. “He threatened anyone who came onto his property unannounced. But once he realized I was harmless, he settled down. We had a very nice interview. He even sent me home with some fresh herbs he’d grown in his garden.” The officers exchanged looks, prompting Piper to clarify. “Totally
legal
herbs. You know, thyme and basil? Makes for really good spaghetti sauce.” She paused, then asked, “And just how did you come by the information that I had visited him in the first place?”
“We found your business card on his desk.”
“Ah, an obvious sign of guilt,” she murmured with a false frown, annoyed and relieved at the same time that they had nothing to go on yet they were grabbing at anything and everything. Not that she was worried. When she’d left Dearborn, he’d been very much alive. However, she was troubled by his sudden death and that was the truth. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“What story were you working on?” the officer asked.
She smiled and lied. “Garden growing in the mountains.”
“Can I see it?”
“Of course.” She went to her computer and pulled up the dummy file of the story she’d written with absolutely no intentions of submitting but made for convincing evidence that she’d actually been working on something for the paper. She’d done it for Charlie’s sake—the little cretin was always peeking over her shoulder, looking for an opportunity to get her canned—but, boy, she was glad she had it at the moment.
The officer peered at the computer screen and seemed satisfied. “It is going to run?” he asked.
She affected a sad expression. “Unfortunately not. My editor didn’t think it had enough local interest, so he killed it. Oh, well. That’s the way it goes sometimes.”
“Seems like a lot of work for nothing.”
She shrugged. “It’s the nature of the business. Anything else?”
“No, we’ve taken up enough of your time. If we have any further questions, we’ll let you know.”
She saw them out and, once they were safely in their cruiser and gone, she let out a shaky breath that Nancy caught. “What’s going on?” she asked, her eyes as wide as saucers. “Are you in trouble? Oh, the publisher isn’t going to like trouble.”
She waved away Nancy’s concern, though she felt uneasy. “They’re just following up any lead they can. William Dearborn was found dead. And not of natural causes.”
Nancy’s mouth turned down and she shook her head. “Such a shame. You know, before he turned into a recluse, he was quite handsome.”
Piper did a double take at Nancy’s unexpected comment. “Are we talking about the same William Dearborn? Wild, bushy-haired, mountain-man William Dearborn?”
Nancy nodded. “He was never the same after Red Meadows. Walked away from his wife and son, quit his job… It was all very sad.”
She perked and stared at Nancy. “Who was his wife and son?”
“I don’t remember her name off the top of my head but I remember the son’s because it was so unusual… Farley, wait, no, yes, Farley. I think he and his mom stayed in the area, too.”
Farley? Farley Deegan? The bane of her existence was related to William Dearborn? Funny, he hadn’t mentioned having a son, but maybe he’d crossed them out of his life after Red Meadows…but why? She peered at Nancy, unsure she had her facts straight. “Do you mean Farley Deegan?” she asked.
“No, I’m pretty sure the boy’s name was Farley Dearborn. Unless his mother changed it later. Oh, who knows these days. The mother was a bit…odd.”
Odd
certainly described Olivia Deegan well. Of course,
odd
was a relative term when describing inhabitants of the farm. “Why’d he leave his wife and son behind?” she asked.
At that, Nancy seemed to remember herself and closed up. “I don’t know,” she said hastily. “The whole town changed. Anyway, it’s probably best to just let sleeping dogs lie. I’m sorry to hear about William Dearborn, but I’m glad you have nothing to worry about with the authorities. I’ll make sure Mr. Cook doesn’t hear of this little visit.” She winked and went back to her work, leaving Piper to wonder if a fountain of information had been underneath her nose the whole time in their mild-mannered receptionist. She’d have to ferret out a way to see what Nancy knew. One thing was for sure, it was becoming readily apparent that Red Meadows affected more than just Ty Garrett. It was starting to feel as if everyone had something to hide.
And that didn’t sit well with Piper at all.
Gretchen shook her head and got to work, glad to have a project to keep her mind from straying too far into dangerous territory.
Danny was still out there. A shiver of fear followed. He didn’t know where Owen lived but she supposed it wouldn’t take too much effort to find out. She didn’t want Owen to get caught in the cross fire should Danny show up wanting her to come back. She had to stop worrying about tomorrow when there was plenty to do today. She kicked Danny from her mind and focused on putting together dinner.
Timothy followed, giving Timber a scratch behind the ears, but came up short when he saw Gretchen. His Adam’s apple bobbed and he seemed flustered. Owen had forgotten to mention Gretchen was staying with him for a while when he’d extended the invitation for grub back at his place. “Smells good,” Timothy said, rubbing his belly as if starved. “Bet it’s a fair sight better than that chicken in a bucket you got there.”
Owen glanced down at the takeout in his hand and agreed. Whatever Gretchen had whipped up smelled pretty damn good. Gretchen, shooting an unsure glance at Timothy, took the bucket and put it on the counter. “There’s always room for chicken. We’ll have both,” she assured him.
Quinn bounced in, following her nose. “Chicken! My favorite!”
Gretchen grinned. “See? It won’t go to waste. Now, go wash up. All of you.”
Owen and Timothy went to the sink and made quick work of scrubbing while Quinn took over the bathroom. The sound of her off-kilter singing was pretty cute, he had to admit.
He took a seat at the table where Gretchen had put out a full spread and he wondered how she’d managed to create so much with so little.
“Gretch…I appreciate…”
“Hush now, Owen, or you’ll hurt my feelings,” she said, and he buttoned up quick. He looked over at Timothy, who was watching Gretchen with something that looked a lot like longing, and he was struck by the sudden revelation that his faller had a secret crush on his office manager.
And Gretchen seemed oblivious.
How long had this been going on? he wondered. And how had he totally missed it?
Owen shot a look at Timothy and the faller seemed to catch himself, dragging his attention away from Gretchen and back to Owen. “How’s things with that reporter? She still giving you hell?”
At the mention of Piper, Gretchen’s expression soured. She settled at the table with Quinn and served her daughter before helping herself. “I’d never presume to tell you your business but I’ve got a bad feeling about that woman,” Gretchen said. “She’s nothing but trouble. I can see it from a mile away.”
Timothy nodded. “I thought your head was going to explode when that last article came out.” He snickered. “She sure knows how to rile you up, that’s for sure.”
Owen smiled. There was no denying that. Except, lately, he was feeling riled in a different sort of way.
“What were you talking about today? I mean, I thought it was weird that she came here for an interview.”
Owen shrugged, not particularly interested in sharing the details about their talk just yet. He wasn’t ready for other people to know what was going on. Maybe because he didn’t want to hear anything that might discount Piper’s theory. Not yet anyway. He’d spent his life wishing he could find a way to clear his dad’s reputation and now that Piper may have found a way, he wanted to cling to it. At least, for a little while.
“Are you feeling all right?” Timothy asked Gretchen, the rough-hewn faller looking as uncomfortable as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockers at the idea of small talk but he was willing to give it a try. “You look good,” he added. “’Cept for that black eye.”
From the covert stares Timothy was giving Gretchen, Owen imagined Timothy was dreaming of the different ways he’d like to give Danny Mathers an education on how to treat a woman, much less a pregnant woman. It was probably a bloody and messy lesson at the cost of several teeth. He withheld a chuckle and stuffed his mouth with chicken and rice.
Gretchen colored and offered a strained smile. “I’m coming around. Hurts still.” She turned to Owen. “But I want to go back to work tomorrow. I can’t handle sitting around waiting for nothing.”
“What about Danny?” Owen asked, concerned the SOB might try and show up at the office to find Gretchen.
“I can’t hide forever,” she murmured with a sigh. “Besides, I don’t think he will. He’s a coward. He knows there’s always a handful of people at the office, bigger and stronger than he is.” She risked a glance at Timothy and he gave a short nod, his mouth tight.
“He comes around when I’m there, I’ll give him the message he’s not wanted,” Timothy promised, earning a small but grateful smile from Gretchen. “I’d like to see how he measures up against a man. See if he can hold his own when he’s not thumping on a woman. Damn, piece of—”
“Yes, thank you, Tim,” Gretchen interrupted with a nervous laugh before Quinn caught an earful of colorful language. Quinn giggled and grinned at Timothy and then at Owen, who was struggling to hide his own laughter. Tim, God love him, was as solid as they came but he didn’t know much about censoring himself around children.
Tim realized his goof and his ears reddened. “Sorry,” he mumbled, before shoveling rice in his mouth.
“Don’t worry. I’ve heard worse,” Quinn quipped. “’Specially when Mama came around the corner and banged her toe on the coffee table. She said lots of bad things.”
The laughter Owen had been holding back burst forth in a guffaw that had Tim joining in and Gretchen blushing. “It really hurt,” she admitted with a grin of her own.
The laughter eased the awkward tension and conversation flowed a bit easier until the subject of Piper came up again.
“So, do you think that reporter is likely to start hanging around?” Gretchen asked, fishing for more information. He shrugged and took another bite. “You know, I wouldn’t be a good friend if I didn’t at least share my fears about that woman.”
“By all means,” he agreed, curious as to what Gretchen had to say.
“Well, for starters, she’s hyper-focused on her career, which means she’ll do anything to get ahead. She’s made it no secret that she has bigger dreams than staying in Dayton. She wants to be like some Diane Sawyer or something. I’m worried that she might be using you to make a name for herself.”
Owen sobered. Gretchen had inadvertently zeroed in on his secret fear. Piper hadn’t exactly answered his question when he asked what her angle was. But he couldn’t imagine anyone in Dayton wanted to read anything new about Red Meadows and he certainly didn’t want to see it splashed all over the news again. Although he supposed if he wanted people to know his father wasn’t the bastard they thought he was, he’d need to release the information somewhere…still the idea of opening up the wounds was a little daunting. There were people who would never believe anything but what they wanted to believe. To some, Ty Garrett would always be the devil.
And no amount of evidence proving otherwise was going to matter.