Foxfire Light (2 page)

The fact was reinforced by the creased finish of his khaki tan slacks and the silk-like material of his white shirt, tailored to fit his physique.
The cuffs of his shirt were precisely rolled back to reveal tanned forearms and the gold sheen of an expensive watch on his wrist. His hands were smooth, unmarked by callouses, indicating an absence of physical labor in his lifestyle. Yet, the “Ozark Mountain Country” of Missouri, raw and untamable, satisfied an inner need in Reece.

In contrast, Linc Wilder was a product of the hills, a ridgerunner as the Ozark natives called themselves. A generation younger, he was two years past thirty. His long legs were stretched in front of him, the rundown heel of a boot hooked over the arch of the other.

His faded Levis were worn smooth and soft, the material naturally molding itself to narrow hips and sinewed thighs. The plaid shirt had seen many washings. Its thinness was evident as it pulled across his wide shoulders. Clothes were not indicative of a man's status in the community. It was the quality of the man they judged, not his possessions, and his name commanded a hard-earned respect.

His long-bodied frame was relaxed in the high-backed rocker. A weather-beaten cowboy hat sat low on his forehead, shadowing his features. A ravel of smoke curled from the cigarette between his work-roughened fingers.

When he took a drag on it, the flaring glow from the cigarette cast a light on his angular features, throwing into sharp relief the hard curve of his cheekbones flattening out to the
carved Line of his jaw. The light briefly reflected the lustre of thick, brown hair before the hand holding the cigarette was lowered.

His brown eyes were light-colored with a dominant gold sheen. Some called them “painter's” eyes, the Ozark term for panthers or cougars. They were ever-alert, ever-alive to what went on around him, making his surface indolence deceptive.

Even now, Linc had noticed his older companion's intense interest in the thick forest of hardwoods that crowded the clearing. Without changing his relaxed position, he swung his gaze to the woods, a mixture of hickory, oak, and cedar.

A ghostly light, bluish in color, wavered in the distance at about a man's height. His glance ran back to his friend's curiously aroused expression as the corners of his mouth were pulled in, a controlled show of amusement.

“Linc, do you see that light? What is it?” Reece Morgan's voice did not contain the lazy, regional drawl of the area. Its accent came from another part of the country.

The rocker creaked as Linc pretended to look, then settled back in his chair. “Must be ghost-lights, the spirit of a lost soul wandering the woods.”

“Please, none of your folklore and legends.” The reply was heavy with amused patience.

“It's called by a lot of names, depending on where it's seen—graveyard lights, marsh lights. In the deep woods, it's known as foxfire.” He
flicked his cigarette butt into the night's darkness, watching the red arc it made.

“A will o'the wisp.” Reece Morgan gave it the term he was more familiar with.

“Right.” Linc let his gaze wander back to the light, a phenomenon of nature. “It's caused by the decomposition of matter, giving off gases. When the conditions are right, there is an incandescent glow.” The strange light appeared to move away, fading into the night and disappearing altogether.

“In all the times I've been here, I don't recall seeing it before. Is it common?” Reece asked with an intrigued frown.

“No. I've only seen it a few times myself. The first time I was just a boy and it scared the livin' daylights out of me,” Linc smiled briefly at the memory. “I thought it was the ghosts of the Spanish soldiers with Cortez that were massacred by the Indians, come back to haunt the hills.”

“A child's imagination is a vivid thing,” Reece agreed and released a soft, contented sigh. He paused a moment as if to savor all that was around him, the sounds, the smells, the silences of the land. “I have been coming here, to this place, for the last ten years, yet I haven't tired of it. Sometimes, when my life becomes really hectic out there, it is by remembering all this that I am able to retain not only my sanity but also my perspective on what is important.”

“It doesn't seem like it's been ten years,” Linc mused, thoughtful for a moment.

“You have changed a great deal since that first summer we met,” Reece observed and watched the dry quirk of Linc's mouth. “You were a regular hellion then. The following year, when I learned your father had died, I half-expected you to squander all the wealth and property your father had managed to accumulate in his lifetime.”

“So did a lot of people,” he acknowledged.

“You had to grow up fast.” Reece considered that fact. “Perhaps too fast.”

Only now and then did he see traces of the wild, devil-may-care youth. Responsibility at a young age had hardened the man, leaving him with a mouth less inclined to smile and a closed-in expression. Linc Wilder had become somewhat of a loner, a rogue, not without friends but with few who could appreciate the pressure associated with his responsibilities.

This was the common ground they shared, the foundation their friendship was built on. It was this insight that enabled Reece to see the restlessness that stirred beneath Linc's apparently calm surface, and had been present since Linc had arrived nearly an hour ago. He didn't know the cause for it, and nothing Linc had said enlightened him. He had been waiting for Linc to tell him, but now he decided to do a little probing.

“Have you heard from the bride and groom since they returned from their honeymoon?” Reece masked his interest in a casual question,
referring to the recent marriage of Linc's baby sister, Sharon; at eighteen the youngest of the Wilder children.

“They stopped by the other evening,” he admitted. “Sharon is still a giggly bride with stars in her eyes, blushing at the smallest remark.” That statement led him into imparting information about the third member of the family, his younger brother, David. “David won't be coming home at all this summer. He's clerking for an attorney firm in Dallas.”

“The house must seem empty.” His dark gaze narrowed thoughtfully as Reece read between the lines.

After nine years of being the family breadwinner and stand-in father for his younger brother and sister, he was no longer required to fill those roles. His mother had passed away last fall; his brother was in law school; and his sister was married.

“I have some peace and quiet at last.” Linc seemed to mock his own words.

“Now you are free to think of yourself,” Reece reminded him. “You should find a woman, get married and raise a family before you become a crusty bachelor too set in his ways to change.”

“In one breath you say I'm free, and in the next you're suggesting I should tie myself down again,” Linc chided. “I notice you're still single. Why don't you get married?”

“If I could persuade a certain lady to say 'yes,' I would. But unfortunately—” There was an
expressive shrug of his shoulders—“it seems the desire is all one-sided.”

Linc knew the woman about whom Reece spoke. “Have you seen Rachel since you got here?” The widow, Rachel Parmelee, was in her mid-forties, proud and independent, and still attractive.

“Yes, I've seen her—and renewed my long standing invitation to dinner—and received her polite refusal.” The reply was made with a faint biting edge to his voice that indicated his frustration and growing sense of hopelessness. “Is she seeing someone else? Am I trespassing?”

“I haven't heard that she's dating anyone on a regular basis. Be patient, Reece,” Linc advised. “You are only here one month out of the year. It's natural for her to be wary. We ridgerunners are slow to believe the intentions of outsiders.”

“Patient.” There was a wealth of meaning in that single word and the raised eyebrow.

Linc had the impression that his friend's supply of patience was dwindling. He understood, but he also understood Rachel's mistrust. “If you were around all the time, it would be a different story.”

“Unfortunately my business does not permit that,” Reece replied with obvious regret and changed the subject. “My niece is arriving tomorrow to spend a couple of weeks with me.” He paused to muse, “Joanna and I are alike in many
ways. Perhaps she will find the same peace these mountains have given me.”

“There's always the possibility she won't like it here. She might find it too tame after L.A.,” Linc suggested.

“No.” Reece shook away that thought. “She is too much like me.”

“For your sake, I hope you're right.” Linc gathered his feet under him to stand up. “It's getting late and I have a full day tomorrow.”

“Come over tomorrow evening for dinner,” Reece invited, rising too. “I want you to meet my niece.”

“We'll see.” Linc didn't commit himself. “I have to be over this way tomorrow afternoon to pick up the buckboard Jessie restored for me.”

“Jessie Bates?” At Linc's nod, Reece laughed softly. “I think that man enjoys being a character out of the hills. I am never certain how much of what he says he really means and how much is an act put on for my benefit.”

“There's no doubt he's one of a kind,” Linc agreed. “I'll stop by after I leave Jessie's and let you know whether I can make it to dinner tomorrow night.”

“That will be fine,” Reece assured him.

“Good night.” His hand lifted in a half-salute as he descended down the porch steps and walked around to the front of the cabin, facing the road.

Climbing into the four-wheel-drive pickup
parked there, he reversed it out of the driveway and onto the hard and rutted surface of a graveled road. It was narrow, twisting and winding, like nearly all the roads in the Ozark hills, especially the back roads. It was virtually without shoulders; a narrow drainage ditch separated it from the woods. Linc slowed once as an opossum scurried to escape the beam of his headlights. He slowed again where another road branched off from the one he traveled. It led to Jessie Bates's place.

Three miles further he turned into the driveway of his six hundred plus acre ranch. The yardlight was on, but no light shone from the windows of the sprawling ranch house, sitting on the crown of a bald hill overlooking the lake. Linc didn't immediately go inside, but walked around the house to stand on the patio and take in the familiar view.

Far below him and some distance away, he noticed the light shining dimly from the log cabin where Reece Morgan was staying. The cabin had once belonged to his family, as did most of the land around it. His father had built the cabin on speculation ten years ago, intending to develop and sell the lakefront property he owned. But it had turned out to be too far off the beaten path for summer tourists to want it as a vacation retreat.

In the end, his father had sold it to Reece Morgan and didn't attempt to develop the rest of the frontage. Neither had Linc since he'd taken
over, although there was a market for it now.

He made a slow turn and walked to the sliding glass doors. Even as he entered the house, Linc knew he was too restless, too on edge to sleep. He went instead to the study where there was always paperwork to be done.

I
t was early afternoon when Joanna Morgan's plane arrived in Springfield, Missouri. By the time she had claimed her baggage, signed all the papers to rent a car, and found where it was parked, she was almost sorry she had insisted it wasn't necessary for her uncle to pick her up at the airport.

It had sounded so simple and sensible when she'd told him her plans over the phone, especially when she'd looked at a Missouri map and seen it was roughly forty-five miles from the airport to her uncle's cabin. In Los Angeles, that was just across town.

After more than two hours in airports, waiting to leave and changing planes, plus another three
hours in the air, she wasn't overjoyed by the thought her final destination was still an hour's drive away. She didn't take it too well when she discovered the little economy car she had rented didn't have air-conditioning.

She had already begun to wilt under the unrelenting heat typical of a Midwestern summer. Rolling all the car windows down gave her some relief as she traveled south on the highway. But the hot wind that blew in ruined the smoothly coiffed style of her ash-blonde hair.

The city limits of Springfield were about twenty minutes behind her when the gently rolling plateau gave way to sharply ridged hills. Her uncle had often mentioned the beauty of the Ozark Mountains, but Joanna had little time to spare to reflect on the scenery. There seemed to be more traffic than the two-lane highway could handle and she had to give her full attention to the road.

As the highway twisted up one high ridge and curved down to the next valley, Joanna found herself trapped behind a slow-moving fuel tanker truck. At twenty miles an hour, she crawled up a hill behind it, her little economy car lacking the power to accelerate past the truck in the rare narrow gaps of oncoming traffic. As soon as they reached the crest, the truck barreled down the hill trying to pick up momentum to climb the next, not giving Joanna a chance to pass. It was an exercise in utter frustration.

Between that and the baking heat of the sun,
Joanna was at the end of her patience when she reached the intersection of the state road her uncle had directed her to take. In a gesture of defiance, she thumbed her nose at the truck as she turned off.

She hadn't gone a half a mile when a farmer in a pickup truck, loaded with hogs, pulled onto the road in front of her. Again, the oncoming traffic wouldn't allow her to pass and her speed was reduced to a nerve-wracking crawl. Knotted with tension, she sat behind the wheel, her cheeks flushed with the heat, her temper seething.

Joanna wasn't sure when she first suspected that she had gone past the second turnoff. The farther she went, the more convinced she became that she had missed it. She glanced again at the directions her uncle had given her over the telephone. They sounded so straightforward and simple. How could she have possibly gotten lost?