A Bridge Unbroken (A Miller's Creek Novel) (11 page)

“And to drink?”

“Just water.”

The waitress gathered the menus and headed to the computer to enter their order.

Chance struggled to find a way to ask the question burning in his mind. “Please don’t think I’m trying to pry or anything, but I have to ask some questions in order to know how to reach this decision.”

She rolled her bottom lip under for a moment. “I understand. But know that for reasons I can’t explain, I might not be able to answer all your questions. Whatever happens, I trust that the decision you reach will be good for both of us.”

He frowned. She made it sound like he'd be making the decision for both of them. “Mind if I say a quick prayer for us?”

“Not at all.” She bowed her head.

“Dear Lord, thank You for this beautiful day and the inspiring message from Your Word. Please bless the food to the nourishment of our bodies so we might be better servants for You. And help us reach the decision that most honors and glorifies You. Amen.”

Dakota glanced up, but she must've seen something or someone else, for she kept looking furtively to her right. Then she half-hid behind her left arm as she rearranged her red curls and looked away, nibbling on her upper lip.

Chance glanced in the direction of the big guy. Yep, he was still ogling her. “Would you like me to say something to him, Dakota?”

“No. It’s okay.” The words machine-gunned from her mouth.

He studied her. Visibly shaken, nervous, and uncomfortable, and doing everything in her power to hide it.

“What questions did you want to ask?” She picked up her water glass and sipped, her face still partially hidden from view behind her left hand.

“Uh, yeah. The other day at Andy’s office you indicated that you have a job?”

She nodded and sat her glass on the table. “Yes, I’m a writer.”

His eyebrows scurried up his forehead. Wow, he hadn’t seen that one coming. But it certainly made sense. Even back during their summer together, she’d been an avid reader, always entertaining him with snippets from the books she read. “What kind?”

“A little of everything, actually. I pick up whatever freelance jobs I can find on the internet, but my real love is fiction.”

“Published?”

“Yes, but independently.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I'm also my own publisher.” She scratched her neck so hard she left red marks. “I’m my own everything actually. I design my own covers, do my own formatting, marketing, publicity, etc.”

“And you can make a living?”

She hesitated. “As long as I’m frugal. That’s actually one of the things that concerns me most about restoring the farmhouse. I don’t know how I'll have time to write. But without the writing, I don’t know how I can help pay for the renovation.”

Something he could easily relate to. “I have the same issues. I work twelve-hour shifts and come home exhausted. Not sure how I could pull off a renovation on top of my job.”

“At least you have money.” She immediately scrunched up her nose and lowered her head, as though regretting the words.

He’d suspected as much, but since she opened that can of worms. “And you don’t?”

She leveled her honest gaze at him once more. “I have a little saved, but it won’t go far.”

The waitress brought their food and set in front of them. “Can I get y’all anything else?”

“No thanks.” Fingers of guilt lowered his head to view his loaded plate, then raised it to her measly meal of bread and gravy. No wonder she was so thin. Somehow he’d find a way to pay her ticket without her knowing it. A plan hatched in his mind. “You have any other concerns besides needing time to write?”

Dakota didn’t look up. “Not really. Like I said before, I trust your judgment.”

Irritation erupted inside him, and his fork and knife clattered to the plate. “Don’t do this, Dakota.”

She glanced up, eyes wide. “Do what?”

“Don’t shove this all off on me, so you don’t have to deal with it or take responsibility later.”

Sparks flashed in her eyes, but to her credit she said nothing. Her shoulders sagged, taking her head with them. “Honestly, Chance, I’m not trying to do either. I’m just at a stalemate where this whole thing is concerned. I look at the whole thing and see an even mix of positives and negatives, most of which I can't discuss.” He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him short. “Don’t ask why, Chance. I just can’t.” She inhaled deeply and released the breath through pursed lips. “That’s why I want you to choose. The Lord will take care of me either way, and I know He’ll do the same for you.”

Something twisted inside him. Hearing such words of faith spoken from a sincere heart, coming from the beautiful woman in front of him touched him in a way he hadn’t anticipated. He carved off a piece of the juicy steak and stuffed it in his mouth.
Lord, what do you want me to do?
Immediately an idea popped into his head. Her response to news he was about to deliver would give the answer he needed. He finished the bite and leaned forward.

She looked up from her almost-empty plate. “There’s something on that brain of yours, Chance Johnson. Spit it out.”

A smile reached his lips in spite of his attempt to keep it from happening. She’d always had the uncanny knack of reading him like one of her books. “I just remembered something Andy mentioned last night. Apparently, there have been a couple of inquiries on the property.”

“Possible buyers?”

He nodded. “Andy said one guy was pretty rough-looking.” Chance turned his head to look across the crowded room to the guy he’d spotted earlier. Gone, thank goodness. “And the other is a company that buys up farmland for the purpose of harvesting natural resources.”

Dakota laid her fork on the plate, her forehead creased. “Meaning?”

“Meaning they harvest the land for lumber, rocks, minerals, paving materials, whatever they can find that will make them money. Oh, and they’ll probably do the same with the farmhouse.”

Her face went more pale than its normal creamy-white, and turned her eyes into emerald-colored orbs, large and dark.

All the answer he needed.

Chance laid the cloth napkin on the empty plate and leaned back while the waitress removed their dishes and scurried off toward the kitchen. “I think I know what we're supposed to do.”

She swallowed, pressed her lips together, and looked at him intently, waiting, but not speaking.

“Don’t know how it’s ever gonna work, but I think we’ll renovate a farmhouse.”

The next thing he knew she was at his side, hugging the stuffing out of him.

CHAPTER NINE

A
buzz sounded at the door, immediately followed by a camera shot on Krater’s computer screen. Foley. He’d been in contact off and on since Sunday night late after locating Amy in a restaurant with a guy named Chance Johnson. After following them back to a church parking lot in Miller’s Creek, Foley had tailed her all the way out to the secluded farm where she now lived.

A smile curled his lips. Amy Stephens. Dakota Kelly. A.K. Aston. No matter what name she tried to hide under, he knew them all. Had found her. Just like he always did.

Valmoor purred at his feet. Krater picked him up, and then stepped to the control panel to punch in the code.

“Trick or treat.” Foley, his pot belly protruding like a ripe watermelon, wheezed into a snicker, obviously very much amused by the comment.

A non-amused laugh sounded from Krater's throat. “Fresh out of treats, Foley, but are you sure you really want a trick?”

Foley’s smile faded, and he rapidly shook his head from side to side, his fleshy jowls flopping.

Poor idiot. One he’d endure only until his services were no longer required. Krater stepped back and motioned Foley in, Valmoor tucked contentedly in the crook of his arm. “I expected you yesterday.” He held out his hand for the large envelope containing the maps of the area and layout of the farmhouse.

The man handed them over as he waddled in. “Well, I wanted to make sure things were going down the way I thought they were. You’ll be glad I waited.” Foley’s face was covered with several days’ worth of growth, which only served to highlight his double chin and yellowed teeth.

“New information?”

“Not exactly.”

Careful not to disturb Valmoor, Krater swiftly landed a punch to Foley’s more-than-ample body.

The man crashed into the closed door, then brought the back of his sleeve to wipe the trickle of blood oozing from his mouth.

“I don’t take kindly to my employees taking advantage of me. You should know that by now.” He didn’t raise his voice. There was no need.

Foley whimpered in response, but nodded, his eel-like tongue licking at his busted lip.

“Now, the explanation of why you’re late.”

“I went back to that guy’s law firm.”

“Andy Tyler?”

“Yeah. I wanted to verify that the property wasn’t going up for sale. That our little chickadee planned on staying put.”

The wheels in Krater’s head began to spin. “And?”

“Not on the market at the moment is what the guy said, like he still wasn’t convinced things would work out.”

Interesting. “Did he say why?”

“Something about only by prayer and the grace of God, or something like that.”

His eyes narrowed. There was much more to this story than what he knew. Information he’d have to know in order for his plan work. “And you didn’t ask what he meant?”

Foley shifted the weight of his bulging belly from one foot to the other, his beady eyes restless. "He didn’t give me a chance. Had a court date to get to. I woulda stayed longer, but you told me to get here ASAP and make sure I wasn’t followed.” The slovenly man’s words erupted into a slimy barrage of word vomit, and he twisted his hands in front of him.

Krater turned away and moved across the room to allow his thoughts to process. For now at least, Amy was holed up at a secluded farm not too far from here, which meant it shouldn’t be too difficult to get to her without causing a scene. Chance Johnson could be problematic, but he had other ways to get him out of the picture.

The contents of the grandfather’s will had left the farm to the both of them with the contingency that they work together to restore it. But apparently the two weren’t completely sold on the idea based on the attorney’s reply to Foley.

Hmmm. With a well-manicured finger he lifted the chin of the purring black cat and peered into its golden eyes. “What should we do, Valmoor? Do we wait until Amy decides to run again, or do we make our move sooner?” So many variables at play, but none insurmountable. The main thing was to be patient. The last thing he needed to do was make a costly mistake, especially when he was this close to achieving his goal. He faced Foley, who worked his lips back and forth, his lips itching to speak. “What is it, Foley? You have something to say, so say it.”

“It’s just that, I—I was wondering if I could get an advance to tide me over to the next pay day.”

“Already spent it all on booze and cigarettes, eh?” He clicked his tongue.

Foley didn’t answer, but his eyes bulged.

So easy to anger, this one, which would make him all the more disposable later. “Let me make you a deal you can’t refuse.”

The overweight man’s face brightened. “Okay.”

“You bring back every piece of information you can get on Mr. Chance Johnson and his relationship to Amy. Be thorough. Then, and only then, will I consider giving you your requested advance.”

“But that means going back to Miller’s Creek.”

Krater crossed the room again, headed straight toward Foley.

“Which I don’t mind doing at all.” Foley flinched and moved out of the way to let him pass.

Krater punched in the code and opened the door. “I thought you might see it my way.” He gently closed the door behind Foley, then moved to his desk at command central. Time for a planning session.

Chapter Ten

S
heer panic careened through Dakota’s insides, bouncing off her bones. She squatted to the ground, focused on the fresh cigarette butt, her mind littered with questions she couldn't answer. Who had been here? Were they still around? What were they doing? What did they want?

She shivered. Her. They had always wanted her and would stop at nothing. But how had they found her way out here in the middle of nowhere?

Dakota stood, examining the cigarette butt in her hand and noticing teeth marks in the filter's thin paper. An image of Kane flashed to mind, with his cigarette dangling from his lips as he screamed at her.

Fireworks of fear exploded, her breaths coming in short, open-mouthed spurts.
Breathe, Dakota. Think!

She scanned the vicinity, searching for the slightest movement, ears strained to pick up the faintest sound
.
Nothing but the gentle coos of the dove and the wind rattling the tall field grass. A minute or two later, she finally slowed her breath and racing heart, comforted by one thought. If Kane had been here, he would’ve let her know. His raging ego and temper would’ve played out immediately.