Winter's Shadow (5 page)

Still aware of Blake’s gaze, Winter strapped on her helmet and slid onto the scooter. Why had he made the offer, anyway? If Winter caught some creep taking photos of her, she doubted she’d care whether they got home safely or not. Evidently Blake was not only gorgeous but kind as well. And Winter had refused an opportunity to spend more time with him. Yep, she could add that to the list of smart decisions she’d made today,
right under walking blithely into what was obviously a deathtrap.

Winter keyed the ignition, cringing at the ragged ticking sound deep within Jessie’s engine. Her poor old scooter was nearing the end of its lifespan. Last week, while waiting at a set of traffic lights, Jessie had started shuddering and vibrating in the most alarming way before eventually falling still. After the scooter failed to start again, Winter had been forced to push it the rest of the way home. Once in the driveway, Jessie’s engine had sprung back to life, reminding Winter of a trick she used to pull on her father when she was a child. Pretending to be asleep, she would allow him to carry her from the car to the bedroom – only to open her eyes and giggle mischievously as he tucked her in.

For a few nervous seconds, Winter thought she might actually have to take Blake up on his offer, but on the sixth turn the engine started whirring. She steered Jessie towards the parking lot exit, feeling self-conscious about the plumes of oily black smoke belching from the scooter’s exhaust. When Blake turned to watch her pass, she threw him a wave. He returned it without smiling, and continued to stare at her in that intense way. He was a strange one, that was for sure. Strange and beautiful.

Winter wondered if she’d ever see him again. Even in a small town like Hagan’s Bluff the likelihood of their paths crossing for a second time was slim. Besides, in her experience opportunity rarely knocked twice, especially after getting the door slammed in its face the first
time. Yep – she’d blown it. Missed out on her one and only chance at getting to know the mysterious Blake. He was nothing now but an anecdote, an exciting story for her to tell Jasmine at school tomorrow. She’d probably leave out the part about refusing his offer of a lift home, though. Jasmine would never forgive her for being such a coward.

Considering the sort of day she was having, Winter wasn’t surprised that it started raining minutes after she left the parking lot. She’d only just turned onto Archimedes Drive and was heading down the mountain towards town when the initial fat drops fell. At first it was only sprinkling and she was able to ride without too much difficulty, but after a few minutes the shower strengthened in force. Not for the first time, she wondered why helmets weren’t equipped with wipers. She slowed Jessie to a crawl and that was when the dreaded shuddering vibration began.

‘C’mon, Jessie!’ Winter urged, gripping the handlebars, but the whir of Jessie’s engine had already regressed to a series of alarming pops and splutters. Despite Winter’s desperate pleading, the scooter soon fell silent. With only gravity to keep her in motion, Winter coasted on the downhill slope for another few metres before pulling over to the side of the road. What a perfect ending to a perfect afternoon.

Sitting on the side of the road, Winter watched the storm rage upon Hagan’s Bluff. From her vantage point on the mountain, she could see most of the town far
below, spreading out from the base of the mountain. All those people down there were enjoying the last of the weekend while she was stuck halfway up a mountain, getting wetter and colder by the minute.

The Bluff looked a little like a toy village; the Lackey River threading through it could have been a trickle of spilled silver paint. Winter’s gaze followed the snaking path of the river past the streets and houses to the coastline, where it emptied into the ocean. The bluffs, from which the town received its name, rose up on either side of the river mouth, the furthest one sporting a bright column of white: the lighthouse on Whistler’s Peak. Beyond the lighthouse, the ocean was a wide dark blue band. Thick sheets of rain blew in over the water, while lightning flashed in the churning clouds mirrored above. If she weren’t soaking wet and freezing, the vista would have struck Winter as beautifully dramatic.

She was just about to see if Jessie had finished sulking when the sound of an approaching engine drew her attention back up the winding road towards the Heritage Centre. Seconds later, headlights lanced through the rain as a pick-up truck came around the corner. Winter straightened on her saddle as the truck rolled to a stop near where she was parked. The driver leaned across to wind down the passenger-side window.

‘Hop in,’ Blake said, pushing open the passenger door.

While Blake was strapping Jessie down on the back of his truck, Winter nervously began to second-guess her decision. She should have called Lucy to come and pick her up. They could have left the scooter here on the mountain and called a tow truck to collect it. It was an expensive option, but at least it wouldn’t have resulted in Winter sitting here feeling anxious.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the rear tray locking into place, followed by Blake’s shoes crunching on the gravel outside. Winter licked her dry lips as he opened the door and slid in next to her. Even though the rain had flattened his black wavy hair to his scalp, he still looked as if he could have stepped fresh from the pages of a magazine. Winter doubted she could say the same for herself. Her red hair hung in wet strands
by the sides of her face, and her coat and blue T-shirt were soaked. At least she hadn’t bothered to put any mascara on this morning; otherwise, she would certainly have serious panda eyes and look even more frightful.

‘Are you cold?’ Blake asked, his gaze dropping to the goosebumps on her arms.

‘No, I’m fi —’ she began, but he was already taking off his jacket. Their eyes met briefly as he wrapped it around her shoulders. Looking into his emerald eyes, Winter felt a jolt, almost like a surge of electricity, that made her entire body tingle. She glanced down, both confused and deeply embarrassed about such a strong physical reaction from some innocent eye contact.

‘Thanks,’ she murmured, ordering herself to get a grip. Blake was just a man. A beautiful man, but no one to get so incredibly worked up over. But even as she tried this line of reasoning, Winter couldn’t follow through with it. Wrapped in Blake’s jacket, in the luxurious warmth of his body heat, Winter knew it was a lie.

‘Where to?’ Blake asked, starting the engine.

For a moment, Winter’s mind went blank as she tried to remember how to get to her house. Perhaps she had hit her head in the church? She was finding it hard to think clearly. Eventually the directions surfaced through her muddled thoughts.

‘Just head down the mountain, and take a left at the main road.’

Blake nodded and swung the truck back onto the lane. They drove in silence as Winter stared through
the rain-streaked window at Hagan’s Bluff, trying to think of something to say. The silence stretched on, becoming uncomfortable, as her eyes restlessly scanned the misty landscape below.

‘So why “Winter”?’ Blake said, breaking the hush. ‘A name like that has gotta have a story behind it.’

Winter cringed. Countless childhood taunts had left their mark. ‘Not much of one. My mum was a big blues fan. You’ve probably never heard of Johnny Winter.’

‘Of course I have.’ Blake’s quick response astonished her. ‘He covered BB King’s “Be Careful with a Fool” in the sixties, right?’

‘I can’t believe you know that!’

He shrugged. ‘I’ve got a memory for music. And little else,’ he added, his lips twitching in a faint smile. It was only a slight crack in his curtain of reserve, but Winter was encouraged. Anything was better than that awkward silence.

‘Well, if my mum had had a boy, she would have named him Johnny. She had a girl, so . . .’

‘Winter,’ Blake finished for her.

She sighed. ‘Not the easiest name to survive the playground with. Most people just call me Win.’

‘I like Winter,’ Blake said, and, for maybe the first time, so did Winter. ‘Can I ask you a question?’

‘Sure.’ She was feeling a lot better. Seeing Blake smile had gone a long way to easing the tension she was feeling. Plus, he didn’t think her name was silly.

‘Why were you spying on me?’

Winter’s stomach tightened into a knot.

‘I wasn’t —’ she began.

‘What was with the camera?’ Blake wore no trace of his earlier smile.

Too flustered to come up with a plausible excuse, Winter could only reply truthfully. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. I was up there taking pictures for a stupid school newspaper thing. And then I saw you and . . . You must think I’m a freak.’
I am a freak
, she thought to herself miserably.

‘Of course not,’ he said, his tone softening. ‘Don’t beat yourself up. I was just curious.’

Winter dared to believe he was telling the truth.

‘What were you doing there?’ she asked, regretting the question even as it escaped her lips. It was none of her business what Blake was doing in the graveyard! Hadn’t she intruded on his privacy enough for one day?

‘Visiting a grave,’ Blake answered shortly. Obviously he had no wish to discuss the matter further.

Worried that the mood in the car had once again grown tense, Winter racked her brain for a way to rescue the moment.

‘So, are you just passing through or . . . ?’ Winter was pretty sure Blake wasn’t local. Hagan’s Bluff was too small for someone who looked like him to go unnoticed. She supposed he might be here for a holiday, although it was unlikely. People came to Hagan’s Bluff for the beaches and it wouldn’t be warm enough to swim for months yet.

‘No, I just bought a place out on Holloway Road. I plan on staying here for a while.’

Winter’s eyes widened. She knew that name well, as did most of the other kids in Hagan’s Bluff. Holloway Road started at the edge of town before disappearing into the woods at the base of Owl Mountain’s southern slope. It used to be the main route to the highway but had been superseded by the bypass constructed a few years ago. Now it was a lonely road, travelled by few, and the one property that lay there was surely not for sale.

‘Not the Velasco place?’ Winter asked, unable to hide the shock in her voice.

Blake glanced over at her. ‘You’ve heard of it?’

‘Everyone’s heard of it!’ She caught his raised eyebrow. ‘It has a . . . reputation.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘You know how every town has a haunted house? Well, ours is the Velasco place. The story goes that old man Velasco was a church minister in the thirties. He had a wife and three daughters. This was during the Depression, so food was pretty scarce. There were a lot of hungry people around. One Sunday Velasco’s wife and daughters didn’t come to church. When they didn’t turn up the next week either, people started asking questions. A month later, when they still hadn’t turned up, somebody called the police. They found Velasco’s wife and daughters cooling in the basement. Well, part of them, anyway. I guess the hunger became too much for old Velasco to handle, so he improvised. They found
him swinging from the rafters in the attic, having hanged himself rather than face the consequences. On Halloween the local kids dare one another to go up and ring the bell. You have to ring it three times or risk being called chicken.’ Winter paused, and added, ‘I only ever made it to two.’

Blake was quiet for a moment, his expression somewhere between astounded and amused. ‘I bought a haunted house?’

Hearing him say the phrase
haunted house
made Winter aware of how silly the concept was. Regardless, she decided to play along, relieved that the conversation had steered away from the awkward scene in Pilgrim’s Lament. ‘’Fraid so. Do you believe in ghosts?’

She looked over at Blake and saw that he was trying not to smile.

‘I suppose I do,’ he answered, and Winter got the distinct impression he was enjoying a private joke.