Cal frowned, staring absently at the cavernous fire
place. “You could bring a civil suit against her, but that would be using a bazooka to rid the house of mosquitoes.”
“Not worthwhile, obviously, but I hate letting her get away with it. And the nerve of her—she just walked in the library when we were upstairs, calmly accessed the reservation records on my computer, and sent the e-mails.”
He glanced at her. “The computer was on?”
“Don’t remind me of how easy I made it for her. I not only had it on, it was open to the reservations. Well, it’s password protected now, but it certainly got us off to a bad start.”
“Did you lose any of the reservations?”
“Only one. The others consented to rebook after I’d groveled a bit.”
That surprised a smile out of him. “I didn’t think you knew how to do that.”
“That’s a lesson I learned early in my career. If there’s a problem, don’t waste time defending yourself. Just fix it.”
“Not a bad philosophy. I’ll bet you didn’t know running a B and B would have so much in common with your real life.”
His words were a reminder that her time here was coming to an end. She fought to ignore the hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach.
“Anyway, I’m absolutely certain Margaret’s guilty of monkeying with the computer, but would she prowl around at night or dress up in Amish clothes to stand out in the rain? I don’t think so.”
“Anyone with such a fund of insincerity can’t be
trusted, but I’m inclined to agree with you about that. She’d be afraid of being caught in an embarrassing position.”
“I’d like to catch her at something.” She shook her head. “That sounds vengeful, doesn’t it? Grams would be ashamed of me. It’s just that we’ve all worked so hard—”
“I know.” He squeezed her hand. “Are you ready for guests to arrive on Saturday?”
“I think we’re in good shape, but I’m certainly glad Grams didn’t tell them they could arrive Friday night. Rachel’s been walking me through cooking the breakfast meals. We actually ate my artichoke and sausage frittata for supper, and it wasn’t half-bad. And Nancy Zook is providing all the baked goods we need.”
He nodded. “I heard from Eli that she’s agreed to help out some, at least until Rachel’s on her feet again.”
“I expect I’ll be coming back on weekends, at least through the busy season.”
Did that sound as if she were asking for something—some hint of where they stood? She hated having things unresolved.
“I’m glad we’ll still get to see you.” His tone was as neutral and friendly as if he spoke to Eli Zook.
Maybe that answered the question in her mind. Cal recognized, as she did, that the differences between them were too fundamental. The hole in her midsection seemed to deepen.
Ridiculous. She’d only known him for weeks. But when she looked at him, she realized that wasn’t true. Maybe in chronological terms they hadn’t known each
other long, but she’d met him at a time when her emotions were stretched to the limit and her normal barriers suspended.
And since then she’d relied on him in a way that startled her when she looked at it rationally. Did she have anyone else, even back in Philadelphia, that she would turn to for help as naturally as she’d turned to him?
No. She didn’t. And that was a sad commentary on the quality of her life.
Cal apparently wasn’t engaging in any deep thoughts over the prospect of her leaving. He was frowning toward the small window in the side wall.
“Shouldn’t we be able to see the reflection of the garden lights from here?”
She followed the direction of his gaze, vague unease stirring. “Yes. I’m sure I could see the glow the last time I looked that way.”
Cal rose, walking quickly toward the hallway and the back door. She followed. They stopped at the door, peering out at the garden, which was perfectly dark.
“Something’s happened to the lights.” She couldn’t erase the apprehension in her voice.
“It may not be anything major.” Cal opened the door, switching on his flashlight. “I connected the new lights to the fuse box in the toolshed. Could have blown a fuse, I guess. I’ll go check.” He stepped out onto the patio.
“Be careful.”
Already at the edge of the patio, he turned to smile at her. “I always am.” He lifted the flashlight in a little
salute, and then stepped off the flagstones. In an instant he was swallowed up by the dark.
She clutched the door frame, hands cold. Irrational, to be worried over something so simple, but then, plenty of irrational things had been happening. She yanked open the door and stepped outside, driven by some inner compulsion.
The beam of his flashlight was the only clue to Cal’s location, halfway to the toolshed. She should have gone with him. She could have held the light while he checked the fuses.
The stillness was shattered by an engine’s roar. Lights blazed, slicing through the darkness. She whirled. Something barreled from behind the garage—something that surged across the grass, sound and light paralyzing her.
Cal. Cal was pinned in the powerful twin headlight beams. Before she could move the massive shape rocketed across the garden, straight toward Cal.
Screaming his name, she darted forward. The vehicle cut between them with a deafening roar. She couldn’t see—the light from Cal’s torch was gone. Where was he?
C
al dived away from the oncoming lights, instinct taking over from thought. The roar of the motor deafened him. Something struck his head, and he slammed into the ground.
He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, facedown in the damp grass. He gasped in a gulp of cool air, shaking his head and wincing at the pain.
Think. Look. Try to identify the car.
No, truck—a four-by-four, by the sound of it. He shoved up onto his knees. The vehicle careened through the garden, ripping up flower beds, smashing the birdbath.
He forced his brain to work. It would be gone in an instant. He had to try and identify it. No license plate to be seen—the rear lights were blacked out. He fought the urge to sink back down on the grass, trying to clear his head. It didn’t seem to work. Someone was shouting his name.
Andrea. She flew toward him, barreled into him. He winced and would have toppled over but for the hard grasp of her hands.
“You’re all right—I thought you were hit.” Her fingers clutched at him, and her voice caught on a sob.
He touched his forehead and felt the stickiness of blood, warm on his palm. He leaned on her, aware of the roar of the truck’s engine. If he could get a good look at it before it disappeared around the building…
The dark shape had reached the pond. It turned, wheels spinning in the mud left from yesterday’s rain. He could make out the shape, not the color. The driver would cut off down the lane….
He didn’t. He spun, straightened, and bucketed straight toward them.
He clutched Andrea. Closest shelter, no time—
“Run! The patio—”
Clutching each other, stumbling a little, they ran toward the patio. He forced his feet to slog as if through quicksand, the truck was coming fast, they weren’t going to make it, Andrea—
He shoved her with every bit of strength, flinging her toward the stone patio wall. Threw himself forward, the truck so close he felt the breath of the engine. Landed hard again, pain ricocheting through his body.
Metal shrieked as the truck sideswiped the patio wall, scattering stones. He struggled, trying to get to his feet, dazed, left wrist throbbing. Strength knocked out of him. If the truck came back, he was a sitting duck….
Then Andrea grabbed him, pulling him onto the patio, dragging him to safety. The truck made a last defiant pass through the flower beds, charged past the garage, clipping it, and roared off down the dark country road, disappearing into the trees.
Andrea clutched him, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “Are you hurt?”
He shook his head, wincing at the pain. “You…”
It was more important than anything to know that she was safe, but he couldn’t seem to form a question.
He tried to focus on her face, white and strained in the circle of light from the door. Katherine stood in the doorway, saying something he couldn’t make out, Rachel behind her in the chair.
He had to reassure them. He staggered a step toward them and collapsed onto the flagstones.
“I’m not going to the hospital. I’m fine.” Cal might look pale and shaken, but his voice was as firm as always.
Andrea found she could breathe. He’d be all right. That terrible moment when she thought the truck had hit him—she could stop thinking about it now.
But she couldn’t kid herself about her feelings for him any longer. That brief instant when she’d thought he was gone had been a lightning flash that seared heart and soul, showing her exactly how much she cared.
The paramedic leaned on the back of a kitchen chair, looking at him doubtfully. “Might be a good idea to let the docs check out that wrist.”
“It’s a sprain.” He cradled his left wrist in his other hand. “The wrap is all I need.”
She’d urge him to let them take him to the hospital, but she knew that was futile. She wrapped her fingers around the mug of coffee someone had thrust into her hands, wondering how long it would take for the shaking to stop.
Grams’s kitchen was crowded with paramedics and police, but for the first time in her memory, Grams seemed to have given up the reins of hospitality. She sat at the end of the table, robe knotted tightly around her, her face gray and drawn.
Love and fear clutched at Andrea’s heart. Grams had to be protected, and she was doing a lousy job of it.
Please, Father, show me what to do. I have to take care of them, and I’m afraid I can’t.
The paramedics, apparently giving up on Cal, began packing up their kits, leaving the field to the police.
There were two of them this time. The young patrolman who’d come before stood awkwardly by the door, and the township chief sat at the table. Obviously the authorities took this seriously. As they should. Cal could have been killed.
The chief cleared his throat, gathering their attention. Zachary Burkhalter, he’d introduced himself—tall, lean, with sandy hair and a stolid, strong-boned face. He must be about Cal’s age, but he wore an air that said he’d seen it all and nothing could surprise him.
“Maybe you could just go over the whole thing for me, Mr. Burke. Anything you saw or heard might help.”
Cal shoved his good hand through his hair, disturbing a tuft of grass that fluttered to the table. She probably had her own share of debris, and she thought longingly of a hot shower.
“I didn’t see much. Seemed like it took forever, but it probably wasn’t more than a couple of minutes at most. We noticed the outside lights had gone off. I thought it was a fuse, started across toward the toolshed
where the box is. The four-by-four was behind the garage, out of sight.”
She nodded, agreeing, and the chief’s gaze turned to her instantly. Gray eyes, cold as flint.
“You agree with that, Ms. Hampton?”
“Yes. I saw the truck come out from behind the garage. To be exact, I heard it, saw the lights. It crossed the back lawn to the pond, turned around and came back, went past the garage again and down Crossings Road. It took less than five minutes, certainly.”
And they’d fought for their lives the whole time.
“Can you identify the driver?” His gaze swiveled back to Cal.
“Too dark without the security lights. As Ms. Hampton said, they’d just gone off.”
“That ever happen before?”
“No.” Cal’s voice was level. “It hadn’t.”
She knew what he was thinking. Someone could have tampered with the fuse box. Would they have had time to do that and get back to the truck before she and Cal went outside? She wasn’t sure, but she couldn’t say how long the lights had been off.
“And the truck?” Burkhalter obviously wanted a description they couldn’t give.
“The rear lights of the vehicle had been blacked out somehow. It was a four-by-four, some dark color—that’s about all I could see.” Cal was probably berating himself that he didn’t get a better look.
Burkhalter nodded. “We’ve found it, as a matter of fact.”
Cal’s brows shot up. “That was fast work, Chief.”
“Abandoned down Crossings Road, keys missing, scrapes along the fender from hitting the wall. The back lights had been broken.”
“Whose is it?” The question burst out of her mouth. If they knew who was responsible…
Burkhalter’s gaze gave nothing away. “Belongs to Bob Duckett. Easy enough for someone to take it—he leaves the garage door standing open and the keys hanging on a hook.”
Of course he would. Half the township did that, probably, thinking this place was as safe as it had been fifty years ago.
“Bob Duckett wouldn’t do anything like this.” Grams finally spoke, her voice thin and reedy.
“No, we’re sure he didn’t.” Burkhalter’s tone softened for Grams. Then he looked back at her, and the softness disappeared. “You reported an earlier incident, Ms. Hampton?”
“Yes.” She glanced toward the patrolman. “We had a prowler.”
“This was considerably uglier than prowling.”
She glanced toward Rachel, shaken by the bereft look on her face. Rachel had expended hours of work and loving care on the garden, only to have it devastated in a matter of minutes.
“You have any idea who might want to do this?” He glanced around the table, aiming the question at all of them.
Grams straightened, clasping her hands together. “No one could possibly have anything against us, Chief Burkhalter.”
Andrea moved slightly, and Burkhalter was on to it at once. “You don’t agree?”
She was conscious of her grandmother’s strong will, demanding that she be silent. Well, this once, Grams wouldn’t get her way.
“There are people who are opposed to another bed-and-breakfast opening here,” she said carefully.
“What people?” Burkhalter wouldn’t be content with evasion.
She had to ignore Grams’s frown. “Margaret Allen, for one. And I understand Herbert Rush and some of the other old-timers don’t like the idea.”
“It’s ridiculous to think they’d do this.”
Grams’s tone told her she’d be hearing about this for a while. Grams couldn’t imagine anyone she knew stealing a four-by-four to drive it through the grounds, but someone had.
She shivered a little, her gaze meeting Cal’s.
Do I say anything about Levi? Surely he couldn’t be involved. He doesn’t drive, for one thing.
Cal cradled his left hand, his expression giving nothing away. A bruise was darkening on his forehead. Her heart twisted.
“Could have been teenagers,” Burkhalter said. “Hearing their elders talk about the inn, deciding to do something about it. Clever enough, though, for him, or them, to put the vehicle behind the garage while they tampered with the lights. No one would see it there unless they were driving down Crossings Road, and likely enough not even then.”
And no one was likely to be going down Crossings
Road at this hour. It led to several Amish farms, but they were probably dark and quiet by this time.
“I trust you’re not going to just dismiss this as casual vandalism.” Rachel spoke for the first time.
“No, ma’am.” Burkhalter’s gaze lingered on Rachel for a moment, but Andrea found it impossible to read. “We won’t do that.” His glance shifted, sweeping around the table. “Anyone have anything else to add?”
Someone stood outside the house one night. Someone might have pushed me into a closet. Someone probably followed me back from the Zook farm yesterday. Someone—Margaret, for choice—tampered with our reservations. There were good reasons for saying none of those things.
“We don’t know anything else.” Grams’s voice had regained some of its command. “Thank you for coming.”
Burkhalter rose. “We’ll be in touch.” He jerked his head to the patrolman, who followed him out the door.
Grams waited until the outer door closed behind them. She stood, pulling her dignity around her like a robe. “Cal, you must stay in the house tonight. Come along, I’ll show you to a room. Andrea, please help Rachel back to bed.”
She was too tired to argue. Besides, if she did have a chance to speak to Cal privately, what could she say? Her feelings were rubbed too raw to have a hope of hiding them. Maybe it was better this way.
Andrea walked into the breakfast room the next morning, wincing as the bright sunlight hit her face. The
French doors stood open, and Rachel sat in her wheelchair on the patio.
She walked outside and put her hand on her sister’s shoulder in mute sympathy. Rachel reached up to squeeze it.
“Stupid to cry over a garden.” Rachel dashed tears away with the back of her hand. “It’s just—”
“It was beautiful, and you and Grams made it.” Andrea finished the thought, her stomach twisting as she looked at the damage. Dead or dying flowers lay with their roots exposed, and deep ruts cut through the lawn. The birdbath was nothing but scattered pieces, and the patio wall where she and Cal had sat bore a raw, jagged scar where stones had been knocked out. The only thing that hadn’t been hit was the gazebo, probably because it stood off to one side.
“It’s hard to believe that much damage could be done in a few minutes.” Something quivered inside her. It could have been worse, much worse. It could have been Cal or her lying broken on the lawn.
“I am so furious.” Rachel pounded her fists against the arms of the wheelchair. “If I could get my hands on the person who did this, I’d show him how it feels to be torn up by the roots.”
The fury was so counter to Rachel’s personality that Andrea was almost surprised into a laugh. Rachel was a nurturer, yet when something under her care was hurt, she could turn into a mother lion. “Maybe it’s a good thing we don’t know, then. I’d hate to see my little sister arrested for assault.”
“It might be better,” Rachel said darkly. “Then I
wouldn’t have to see the guests’ faces. They’ll be here the day after tomorrow, Dree. What are we going to do?” The last words came out almost as a wail.
“We’re not going to waste time on anger.” She had to give Rachel something to focus on other than the fury that could give way, too easily, to helplessness. “You make a list of what you want, and I’ll head out to the nursery first thing. I’ll spend the rest of the day putting new plants in. They’ll at least last while the guests are here.”
Rachel’s brows lifted. “You? When was the last time you dug in the dirt?”
“Probably when I left the sandbox stage, but you’ll tell me what to do. Look, I know it won’t be the same—”
“What about the wall? And the lawn, and the birdbath? It would take an army to get things in shape by Saturday.”
Andrea grabbed the chair and turned Rachel to face her. “Look, this is no time to give up. Now stop acting like a baby and go make that list.”
“You stop being so bossy.” Rachel glared at her for an instant, and then her lips began to quiver. “Um, remind me how old we are again?”
Laughter bubbled up, erasing her annoyance. “About ten and twelve, I think.” She gave the chair a shove. “Go on, write the list. We’ll make this work. I promise.”
Smiling, Rachel wheeled herself through the doorway.
“Rach?”
She turned.
“Has anyone checked on Cal this morning?” She forced the question to sound casual.
“Grams said he was dressed and gone an hour ago,” Rachel said. “I’ll get some coffee started while I make up the list.” At least she looked more herself as she wheeled toward the kitchen.