Fated Hearts (3 page)

Dublin bolted from the parked car. The dog was familiar with the cabin, having called it home not too long ago, and loosed a happy yip as he bounded into the bushes. Carter didn’t know if she had heard the car, the dog, or both, but Henley Elliott stepped out onto the porch before he had moved more than three feet from the Jeep’s door.

“Good morning.”

“You’re the guy from yesterday.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He smiled but didn’t approach.

“You’re the sheriff?”

“Yes. I am. And you’re Henley Elliott.”

She inclined her head but didn’t relax her stance. She should be cautious. Of course, he wasn’t going to test her aim with the Louisville Slugger she held at her side.

“My dog is around here somewhere watering the flora, possibly chasing fauna. His name is Dublin. He’s a German Shepherd, and he’s friendly. We lived here for a while ourselves. I’m letting you know in case he comes bouncing out of a bush and attempts to lick you. I don’t want you to startle and hit him with that baseball bat.”

She watched him a moment longer and then propped the bat against the wall of the cabin. “Let me guess: my landlord asked you to come by, check me out?”

“Close, but not quite. Her husband did.”

“Excuse me?”

“They don’t nitpick over stuff like who owns what in their relationship, but fact is, Maggie owns the cabin and the land. She rented the original cabin from the Blacks when she first came out to Minnesota. I hear it was a two-room hunting shack with no hot, running water back then. When the Blacks got into financial trouble, Aidan offered to buy it. He had this idea of giving it to his wife as a gift. They ended up in a bidding war.” Carter laughed. “Mags won. And she had this built. The driveway was Aidan’s idea. Used to be you had to hike to and from the road.”

“They’re your friends.” Henley’s expression grew more guarded than he thought possible. But he considered it a good sign she didn’t pick up the bat.

“Close, but not quite.” He laughed, hoping she’d relax, and approached the steps. “They’re family.”

“And of course you didn’t mind doing a favor for family.” She nodded and stepped back. He wouldn’t call it a generous welcome, but it was better than being greeted with a piece of treated ash upside the head. “Would you like to come inside, or will the interrogation take place in a more formal setting?”

“Oh, now, don’t be silly. There isn’t going to be an interrogation. And we can sit out here if you’d like. It’s a nice morning.” Carter grinned as he mounted the last step. He was a tall man at six foot five. Most women had to crane their necks to look him in the eye; she barely had to tilt her head. Her hair was long, dark, and straight as a pin. It fell around strong, broad shoulders and a graceful neck, prettily framing her aquiline features. And those eyes were a warm, soft brown, heavy lidded. It was easy to imagine her gazing up at a man from bed. He doubted she wore any makeup at all.

This definitely wasn’t a favor he minded.

“I’m fairly new to the Cove myself. Moved to the area about eighteen months ago and only been sheriff half that time. I would’ve come by to introduce myself regardless.”

“A one-man Welcome Wagon?”

“The Cove is a great place full of friendly, odd people. It can take them time to warm up to a new face. They’re still warming up to mine. And they only call the sheriff’s office when they feel it’s necessary. They try to solve things on their own, which tends to make matters worse, or ring up one of my deputies on his personal cell instead. I’ve been trying to get them more comfortable with me, driving around, being sociable, being available, that kind of thing. I don’t want it to take five or ten years for me to be accepted to get to do my job right. Anyway, short story made long, yeah, I’m a one-man Welcome Wagon, and I consider this part of my job.”

She made a considering noise in the back of her throat. They sat in silence while he waited longer than he’d anticipated for her to speak.

“Not driving the truck today, huh?”

“The truck?” Then he remembered. “God, no. That hunk of junk wasn’t mine. Johnnie Carson got wasted at the Red Rooster, and Hank—that’s the bartender—had to drive him home after closing. When Hank came to open the bar yesterday and found Johnnie’s beat-down old pickup still in the lot, he called Johnnie to come get it and didn’t get an answer. Then he called me. It wasn’t the first time someone had to drive Carson home, but it was the first time the old boozehound didn’t come back for his ride. Weirdo is proud of that thing. Which reminds me, any news on your car?”

“Not yet.”

“Where were you headed when you broke down?”

“Are you asking or is Aidan Gael?” She held up her hand. “Sorry, knee jerk. He doesn’t like me. And that makes me defensive.”

“Aidan is protective of his family. Mags is a lot of things, including impulsive. She likes people and goes with her gut instincts, but she’s not stupid or foolish. She wouldn’t put the Turnip at risk. And Aidan knows that. He just needs a minute to remember it. And I doubt he let down his walls enough to get to know you in order to not like you. I’d say give him time, but if you’re not staying, it’s moot.” Dublin burst out of the bushes like a rocket.

“Turnip?”

“Yeah, their daughter, Tala. Turnip is a nickname.” He petted Dublin. “I asked because I’m curious.”

“I was coming here, to Trappers’ Cove. Was thinking I’d make camp for a while. I’ve grown weary of traveling.”

“How long you been on the road?” Carter could tell by her stiffening shoulders that she wasn’t going to answer. “Okay. Our dispatcher was married to the former sheriff. When he retired, she did too. If you’re looking for work, I happen to know the guy hiring for the dispatcher’s job.” He winked.

She blinked.

“You are a tough nut to crack. For the record, if you want people to be less curious, you should try being less mysterious.”

Carter pulled a business card from his pocket and placed it on the railing. “The number is there in case of emergencies and the regular line in case you want to talk about the job. My cell number is on there, too, if you ever want to talk, to a friend-type person.”

He was more than halfway to his Jeep when Henley spoke. “Where are you from? Your accent has been bothering me since yesterday.”

“The City of Brotherly Love.”

“You don’t sound anything like Rocky Balboa.”

“Love that movie. But South Philly is only one small part of the great big place that is Philadelphia. And that character was an uneducated Italian boxer from the ’70s. Classifying all of us by that one icon is ignorant. It’s like saying all Bostonians sound like those idiots in the Hopper commercials.” He was rewarded with her laugh. It surprised him. It wasn’t a giggle or a chuckle but a loud, exuberant bark that ended as quickly as it started. He liked it.

“You should do that more often.” He opened the car door for Dublin. “Don’t lose the card.”

Henley scowled at the sheriff’s business card she’d propped against a vase on the mantle for the tenth time in the past twenty minutes. She slid her gaze across the room. She loved the cabin. It was beautiful and completely private. But the few hours of contentment she’d enjoyed since Maggie had let her in the evening before had fled. She felt penned in, as if the walls were closing in on her. The privacy had morphed into an uncomfortable isolation. She couldn’t keep her mind still.

She’d called home. Her parents were well. Her sister thrived. They sounded relieved that she’d decided to settle in one place for a while. The conversation was brief, and her mother rang off sounding upbeat. But the call had left Henley feeling out of sorts.

To be honest with herself, she’d been anxious since the too good-looking Sheriff McAlister and his dog had come for a visit. She hadn’t expected Aidan Gael to sic the police on her. And she hadn’t expected them to be related. Or for the tongue-twisting, hot guy in the beaten-down jalopy to be the local sheriff. But nothing about this little stopover in innocuous little Trappers’ Cove was what she’d expected. Regardless, McAlister hadn’t acted like a jerk. He’d offered her a job. She could’ve been more gracious.

Her eyes lifted to the business card again. She doubted it represented a veiled threat. Why was she letting his brief visit affect her so? And what about that job? She needed work. Henley sighed. Work every day with Officer Sexy Buns? Not many women would pass up that opportunity. But wouldn’t it include a background check? It occurred to her that he may have already run one at Aidan’s bequest. Her heart hammered in her chest. What would it reveal? Would it matter?

She should move on to another town once her car was fixed. Maybe another state. Assuming, of course, she could pay for the cost of the repairs with her meager cash supply. Damn it! Maggie was more than generous with the low rent she’d set. But it still wasn’t going to take Henley long to run through what money she had. The kitchen was gorgeous. And bare. Her immediate concern was to eat. And she needed a car to go shopping. Her next concern was a job—she needed to pay for auto repairs and get out of Trappers’ Cove. But she needed transportation to both secure and keep a job. She swiveled back to the business card on the mantle.

Damn it!

She grabbed her cell phone and moved through the living room. She stepped outside as Maggie’s SUV pulled into the drive. Maggie rolled down a window.

“Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.” Maggie’s grin was full and wide. “I’m heading into town and thought I’d see if you want a lift. It’s gotta suck being all the way out here without any wheels.”

“You must have read my mind. I was about to call you, abandon any façade of self-respect, and ask if I could borrow a vehicle.” Henley laughed when Maggie jerked a thumb at the passenger seat. “Just let me grab my purse.”

As they pulled out of the driveway and made the left toward town, Maggie said, “Locking up out here isn’t necessary, but I appreciate the thought.”

“It doesn’t hurt, and it’s a habit I should keep.”

“True enough.” Henley appreciated that Maggie didn’t pry. Although that wouldn’t last. “I have this puppy, and Aidan has his own ride. Plus, we keep a truck on the farm for supply runs. I’ll have to check with Aidan”—Maggie rolled her eyes, and Henley fought to stifle a chuckle—“but I don’t see a problem with loaning you the truck if Al says it’s going to be a while with your car.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“No shit.”

“I don’t want to cause problems between you and your husband.”

“You won’t.” Maggie glanced at her. “He’s a pain in my ass because he loves me beyond reason. Remembering that makes it easier to deal with his crap. Plus, I know exactly how to get around him. Crazy sexual favors—works wonders.” She leered, and Henley couldn’t help but laugh. “Getting a job is great. But keeping it is going to depend on transportation. Unless you’re planning on moving to town?”

Town would include people. People to avoid, to fear. People she would have to face and act normally with in the course of whatever work she found. The cabin, despite the anxiety of the morning, presented a safe, solitary haven. “I’d like to stay in your cabin. For the time being.”

“Thought you might. Truck is yours as long as you need it.”

“Smug looks good on you.”

“I know.” Maggie reached for the radio in the dash, and immediately the car filled with cranked-up bass and screaming guitar. “I hope you like it loud and hard.”

“Sex? Girl, you have a one-track mind,” Henley shouted over the din.

Maggie threw back her head and laughed. The car swerved, but on this stretch of road, opposing traffic was sparse. She corrected the wheel, but it took her a minute to compose herself. “Oh my God, that was great. But I meant music. Most everybody out here listens to country, and I consider that tantamount to auditory torture.”

“I don’t have a preference.”

“Excuse me?” Maggie stared.

“There isn’t any one type of music I prefer over another. I don’t listen to much music. If I had to pick, I guess I’d say chamber music. It’s relaxing.”

“Like what? Yanni?”

“That is not chamber music.” She found the horror in Maggie’s tone and expression funny. “More like Mozart, Haydn, Schubert, Bach.”

“What do you do for fun?”

“I love to read. I download audio books; most hotels now have iPod-dockable clock radios, and I can listen in my room if I’m too tired to read. Plus I invested in a new radio for the Grand Prix; I can sync up my iPod to the car. I’m into movies. I’ve been trying to hit every active drive-in theater I can. With the new sound system, explosions are impressive.”

“I bet the radio in your car is worth more than your car at this point.” Maggie pointed a finger at her. “And you don’t listen to music. It’s a crying shame; you’re wasting the system. I bet the baby you installed was built for Myles Kennedy. Maybe I’ll listen to rock in your car, and you can read a book in mine.”

“You haven’t pried. I expected you would by now; you said as much in the diner.” Henley didn’t understand the friendly overtures without the questions. And waiting for the inevitable was making her anxious.

“You’ve heard the saying ‘catch more flies with honey,’ right?” Henley nodded. “I have a similar approach to fact-gathering. I think people tell you more when you don’t ask than when you do. I figure I start asking you a bunch of pointed, nosey questions, you’ll get stiff and shitty and not tell me a thing other than mind your own business, thanks for letting me stay at your place, and here’s your keys. Then I’ll be watching taillights as you drive out of Trappers’ Cove
not
listening to any music on that awesome sound system. And I’m left aching with curiosity about the mysterious Henley Elliott.”

The sheriff had called her mysterious as well. And she had been stiff. She had also been … Well, she wasn’t about to describe herself as shitty. She was more comfortable going with inhospitable. Yes, she’d definitely been inhospitable to the attractive but friendly Carter McAlister.

“You think if you’re charming and patient and vague, I’ll eventually reveal all my secrets to you?”

Maggie smiled. “Yep. Stronger than you have fallen in the past, my friend.”