Gone Too Deep (28 page)

Fingers closed around her arm, making her jump. George looked at her questioningly, but she waved off her paranoia, even as a voice in her head whispered
like father, like daughter
.

“Anything?” she asked, her voice too bright.

A short shake of his head confirmed what she'd already known—Baxter hadn't been there.

“Oh well,” she sighed, trying to force a smile. “It was a long shot. What's next?”

He eyed her closely, as if judging her reaction to the news, before reaching for her hand. Startled, she stared at their linked fingers for too long and was almost yanked off her feet when George started for the truck.

Scrambling to catch up with him, she asked again, “Where to now?”

“My house,” he said. “Need to start a fire so it's warm for you.” George opened the passenger door of his truck, sending her another of his bashful looks that made her heart squeeze. She guessed it was because she'd be staying at his house that night, and then she was blushing, too.

As he rounded the hood of the truck, Ellie gave the cabin a final glance and huddled deeper in her seat, drawing her coat more tightly around her.

George left Esko Hills and turned onto the main road through town. When Ellie saw the Screaming Moose sign, she sat straighter. “Stop!” He braked abruptly, giving her a startled look.

“Sorry.” She waved her hands as if to erase her earlier exclamation. “I saw the store, and it reminded me that I need more Simpson-friendly clothes. Mind if we shop before doing house stuff?”

His pathetic attempt to cover his pained expression made her laugh.

“Never mind. How about you drop me off here, and then you can do the fire building without me getting in the way?”

Just the thought of some retail therapy unknotted her shoulders a little. Worry about her father and Anderson King had consumed her thoughts for days, and shopping would allow her to put those worries aside for a short time.

Although he seemed hesitant to let her out of his sight, he pulled up closer to the store entrance before jogging to the passenger side of the truck to get her door.

“Thank you.” When she smiled up at him, he went still, his gaze jumping from her mouth to her eyes and back. Ellie leaned closer, ready to be kissed, when a truck passed them, reminding her of their very public location. With a wry grin, she headed to the store entrance, giving George a final look and wave over her shoulder.

As soon as Ellie stepped into the warmth of the Screaming Moose, she relaxed. The store had such a welcoming feel, despite the fact that it made her fingers itch to rearrange the crowded, poorly placed racks.

“Ellie!” The owner, Barbara, greeted her with a smile as she crossed the store. “I heard you were back in town. Any luck locating your dad?”

Fighting down a surge of worry even as she marveled at the efficiency of Simpson's gossip pipeline, Ellie tried to dredge up a return smile. “Not yet.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

There was a slightly awkward pause before Ellie explained, “I'm probably going to be here at least another few days, so I need a few more warm layers.”

“We definitely have those.” Her mouth turned down at the corners for a moment before Barbara's professional mien returned. “Did you want help finding something, or would you rather browse?”

“I'll just browse, thank you.” Ellie's smile was more authentic that time. “You've already given me a crash course in layering, so it should be safe to let me out on my own.”

“Just give a shout if you need anything.” Gesturing toward her raised desk in the corner of the shop, Barbara gave an exaggerated sigh. “I'm paying invoices, so I'd love to be interrupted.”

“I'll do my best to interrupt, then.”

As Barbara retreated, Ellie started looking through the racks. Automatically, she began sorting by size and style, thinning the overcrowded display by moving out-of-season items to another, emptier rack nearby.

“Are you trying to get hired?” Barbara asked, startling Ellie. “Because I'll do it.”

Ellie looked at her absentminded organization and flushed. “I'm so sorry. I didn't even realize what I was doing. I work at a boutique in Chicago, so it's second nature.”

“Don't apologize.” Putting down the paper in her hand, Barbara crossed the store again and examined the newly sorted display. “It looks great. I'm so busy with the paperwork part of this that I just toss everything on a rack and hope it sells.” She reached over and played with the sleeve of a flannel shirt. “To be honest, I've lost a lot of my enthusiasm for this place lately. It's beautiful here, and I love Simpson, but it's always so cold. And the snow. There's so much snow. It never stops. Sometimes it snows in
June
. Then there's trying to make purchasing decisions. The tourists want one thing, and the locals want another, so I try to make everyone happy and end up with this inventory mishmash. Plus, everything here is so much
work
. Just running to the grocery store is an exercise in winter survival. Sometimes, I want to escape to Florida, get a job at a mall, and rent an apartment, you know what I mean?”

Holding a hoodie in front of her like a shield, Ellie just blinked at Barbara. She hadn't been expecting that desperate outpouring, and she wasn't sure how to respond. “Well, I haven't been here long…” Ellie started slowly, trailing off when the other woman waved a brisk hand.

“Don't mind me,” Barbara said. “That's been building up for a while, and you were the unlucky one here at exactly the wrong time. Tell me, what else would you change?”

After eyeing Barbara to see if she was going to go off on another rant, Ellie tentatively suggested, “I'd probably move these racks farther apart to create a path through here.” When Barbara looked interested and there was no sign of another oncoming monologue, Ellie continued with more enthusiasm. “These cashmere sweaters are beautiful, but they're buried over here where people can't see them. I'd put shelves on that wall by the door so that they'd be the first thing customers saw when they came in. Also, the window display…” Ellie paused as she tried to think of a tactful description.

“Horrid, isn't it?”

With a startled giggle, Ellie stopped trying to be tactful. “Maybe a little. And it's actually
dusty
! How long has it been since it's been changed?”

“An embarrassingly long time,” Barbara said frankly. “Hang on for a second while I grab some paper and a pen. I'm going to need to take notes.”

By the time George arrived, Ellie was positively bouncing as ideas flowed into her brain faster than she could articulate them.

“George!” she called when she saw him hovering just inside the door. As she hurried toward him, she said to Barbara over her shoulder, “Husband chairs! We need husband chairs!”

His eyebrows rose to the bottom of his stocking hat. Ellie beamed at him, overflowing with excitement. She might not know how to find her dad, but she knew how to fix the Screaming Moose. Although it was only a temporary break in her worry, this distraction was just what she needed. “Hi. How'd everything go at the house?”

One shoulder raised in a shrug that Ellie translated as “okay,” and she resisted the urge to hug him, loving his wordless gestures because they were so very, very
George
.

“Barbara asked for suggestions to improve the store,” she explained, and his mouth tipped up in a small smile.

He looked at Barbara. “Thank you.”

From her shocked look, Barbara hadn't expected to hear George speak. “Oh. Um, I should be thanking Ellie. She's really good at this.”

Unable to hold back her grin, Ellie turned toward the shop owner. “Thanks. This has been so much fun. Would you mind if I came back another day?”

“Not at all.” Barbara looked around the store. “In fact, I'd welcome the help. We still need to tackle the window display.”

At the reminder, Ellie had to hold back a hop of excitement. “Yes! I can't wait. I'm not sure what my schedule will be like while I'm here, though.” At the reminder of her father, her excitement faded. Her work at the store had kept thoughts of Baxter at bay, but now all her worries returned in a rush, deflating her like a popped balloon.

“Whenever you can make it would be fine,” Barbara assured her. “I have plenty on my plate, so all of this”—she waved the notebook containing pages of scribbled ideas—“won't get done today…or in the next few days, even.”

“Okay. I'll be in when I can.” With a final smile and wave, she slipped out the door as George held it for her.

They walked in silence for a few steps before George spoke. “It looked better—what you did in there, I mean.”

“Thanks.” She beamed at him as her enthusiasm resurged, but then she immediately felt guilty. “For a while, when I was working on the shop, I forgot about my dad. Do you think that makes me a terrible person?”

“No.” His response was immediate. “I think he wants you to be happy.”

“Thanks, George.” Overwhelmed by a surge of affection, she swiveled toward him and caught his arm. Standing on her tiptoes, she tugged until he was tipped sideways enough that she could kiss his cheek—a cheek that reddened as she released him.

They were both quiet as they walked to the truck, but it was a happy silence.

If Ellie thought the staring eyes at The Coffee Spot had been bad, they were nothing compared to the crowd at Levi's.

As soon as they entered, the packed restaurant went silent, and all heads swiveled to stare at them.

Under the scrutiny of what felt like a hundred pairs of eyes, Ellie stopped abruptly. George bumped into her back and then caught her upper arms, steading her before she could stumble forward. Everyone's gazes moved to fix on George's fingers.

“Ellie!” Joseph stood and beckoned. “Come on over.”

As much as Ellie
really
didn't want to spend time with Joseph, there were no open tables, so the alternative would be to keep standing by the door, the object of everyone's stare. There were also quite a few other—hopefully less unsettling—people at the table who should be able to act as buffers between her and Joseph.

Darting a glance at George, she mouthed, “Okay?” and he nodded, so Ellie walked over to where Joseph was pulling up additional chairs to the already-crowded table. She unzipped her coat and felt George slide it off her arms. Looking over her shoulder to thank him, she saw he'd already turned away, heading toward the coat rack just inside the entrance.

“Glad to see you made it back okay,” a woman with gray-streaked brown hair and a ruddy complexion said with a friendly smile. “I'm Janelle.”

“Ellie.” She smiled back, shaking the woman's proffered hand. “And I'm glad, too. That we made it out okay, I mean.”

Janelle laughed. “I bet.”

With a mental apology to George, she settled into the chair not next to Joseph. George, once he returned from hanging up their coats, squeezed in between Ellie and Joseph without a peep of complaint, even though it was quite a feat for him to fit his oversized body into the small space remaining. Ellie tried to shift her chair closer to Janelle to give him more room.

“George!” Janelle said, reaching around Ellie to give him a welcoming slap on the shoulder. “Finally decided to join us for something other than calls and practices, huh?”

He grunted in response.

“I'm Cora.” The dark-haired woman next to Janelle leaned forward, running her eyes over Ellie in that objectively assessing way that she recognized from the EMTs in the helicopter and the medical staff at the hospital. “Any aftereffects from being caught in that avalanche?”

Ellie shook her head. “I was lucky. George said it was just a small slide.” She didn't mention the nightmares about those interminable minutes before George had dug her out.

“Small or not, that had to have been traumatic.” Janelle made a face. “I'm claustrophobic, and just the thought of being trapped under several feet of snow…” She shuddered.

Their names were ringing a bell of familiarity, and she finally remembered where she'd heard them before. “Cora and Janelle! You two were the ones talking about foot massages.”

The two women exchanged a glance as George cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“Uh…not recently,” Cora said.

Ellie blushed. “No, sorry! It was when one of you was pregnant. George had just mentioned…” She couldn't figure out how to finish her thought without revealing
way
too much personal information about both her and George. She'd just been so happy to change the subject from the avalanche that she hadn't thought ahead. “Um, we were talking about foot rubs, and he said he'd overheard the two of you talking about them, and so when I heard your names, that's what came to mind. Sorry, that just made no sense. I'm reinstalling my brain-to-mouth filter now. So, you're both in search and rescue?”

Both of the women blinked while George made a quiet choking sound. Cora opened her mouth and then closed it again.

“I'm Reuben,” the man sitting next to Joseph interjected, and she gave him a wave.

“Ellie.”

The rest of the people at the table went around and said their names, and Ellie smiled politely, knowing it would take a while to keep the ten or so people straight. After Frank, Cora's husband, introduced himself, the table grew quiet for a few seconds.

“So,” Reuben asked with a fake casualness that had everyone leaning forward as if they knew what was coming next, “you and Holloway, huh?”

Her face instantly went red-hot, and her gaze shot to George. He was eyeing the ceiling, possibly praying for an immediate exit out of this uncomfortable conversation. “Um…yes?” Reuben's question had been open to interpretation, but she was pretty sure that she and George were a…something. So what if there were a thousand miles between their hometowns? The incredible way she felt when she looked at George, the way her heart ached with a surplus of happiness when he smiled back at her, turned that distance into a minor, surmountable problem. Whatever she had to do to keep George, she would do it.

“'Bout time.” Frank sat back, a grin on his broad face. “Didn't think George would ever get any.”

“Franklin!” Cora sent an elbow into his side.

“What?” He gave his wife an injured look as he rubbed the spot where she'd connected. “I'm just saying he never seems to notice the way women are around him. That hot lady hiker a couple of weeks ago did everything short of stripping off her clothes to get his attention, and Holloway never even looked at her. All the other guys were staring at her with their tongues hanging out—except for me, of course.” He glanced nervously at his wife. “But George just packed up his gear and left.”

Joseph smiled reminiscently. “I remember her. That chick was
stacked
.”

One of the other men laughed. “Yeah, that's right. Joseph was chasing after her like a horny puppy trying to hump her leg, but she only had eyes for George.”

Glancing at Joseph, Ellie saw him clench his jaw so tightly that a line of white ran along it. When he noticed her watching, he smoothed his expression and gave her a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

“It's just not healthy, spending all that time alone in that cabin of yours.” Despite his wife's pointy-looking elbow, Frank apparently wasn't done talking. Personally, Ellie was glad for the distraction. “I know you have a working right hand, but that's not the same as—ow! What'd I say now, Cora?”

Everyone around the table except for Ellie and George was snickering.

“If you want to get rid of the blow-up doll you have stashed under your bed, I'll take her off your hands,” Reuben offered.

Ellie glanced at George's profile. Without looking at her, he shook his head, and her shoulders relaxed in relief. If he'd really had a blow-up doll stashed in the cabin, then that would've just been…yuck. She might have been rooming at the Black Bear Inn again.

One of the other guys stared at Reuben in disgust. “Why would you want a used blow-up doll? That's just nasty.”

Reuben shrugged. “That's what Windex is for.”

“No, Rube. No.” The man shook his head. “That is not what Windex is for.”

To Ellie's relief, the food arrived for everyone except the two newcomers, distracting them from George's hypothetical sex toys. Ellie ordered ribs, then turned to George, who was still scowling at the laminated sheet in front of him. Tucking one knee underneath her so she could reach his ear, she whispered, “Why so grim? No bunny on the menu?”

A reluctant smile curved his lips as he poked her in the ribs. It was gentle enough to tickle rather than hurt, and she twisted away, giggling.

“Is Holloway
smiling
?” one of the guys asked, bringing everyone's attention away from their food and back to the pair of them. Ellie's blush, which had just started to fade, returned in a hot rush.

“Nah.” Reuben shoved a forkful of barbecued pork in his mouth. “Probably just gas.”

* * *

George insisted on Ellie waiting in the warmth of the restaurant while he went to get the truck that was parked several blocks away. Since she was too tired to argue, and doing things like that seemed to make George happy, Ellie agreed. Exhaustion hit her as she waited, and she leaned against the wall by the door.

“You're Ellie Price?”

The question startled her. She turned to see a small, brown-haired woman with delicate features and huge eyes. She wasn't smiling.

“Yes,” Ellie said, a little intimidated by the woman's serious expression. “Have we met?”

“No. The guys from Fire”—she jerked her head toward a group of men packed into one of the booths—“talk. You're Baxter Price's daughter?”

The mention of her father flustered Ellie, and it was a second before she answered. “Yes. He's my dad. Who are you?”

“Rory Sorenson. He okay?”

Ellie wished she knew. “I hope so. He's taken off again.”

“Sorry.” Although Rory's tone was flat, her mouth tightened in a grimace that made her sympathy seem sincere. “He stopped by my gun shop a few weeks ago.”

She could feel her eyes widen. “Gun shop?”

With a short nod, Rory said, “He seemed…upset.”

“Did he say anything?” The familiar feeling of desperation, of trying to puzzle out his thought patterns in order to understand him and find him, filled her.

“No. Well, yes, but nothing—”

“Nothing that made sense?” Ellie finished for her. “Dad was pretty bad then. He was doing better at the hospital, but he checked himself out yesterday.” Her gut clenched in reaction to the words. It made it worse to hear them out loud. “I don't know where to even begin looking for him.”

Reaching out, Rory gave her upper arm a quick, awkward pat. “Sorry.”

“Thanks.”

They stood in silence until it started to get weird. Ellie was trying to think of an excuse to leave the uncomfortable stare-off when Rory asked, “You and George?”

It seemed to be the question of the evening. “Yes.”

Rory looked at her for another long minute as Ellie tried to control her nervous fidgeting. Her fingers wanted to climb toward her mouth, of course, but Ellie yanked them down and held them tightly at her waist.

“Good.” With a strangely meaningful nod, like they were soldiers in battle together or something, Rory turned and walked away. Ellie watched, a little bemused, as the other woman joined the booth of firemen. An almost-too-beautiful-to-be-real man wrapped an arm around her shoulders, leaning in and saying something in her ear that made her smile at him. It was startling the way happiness transformed her face before disappearing as quickly as it had come.

Realizing she was staring at the couple, she turned and jumped. George was right behind her. Ellie resisted the urge to hug him. It had only been a couple of minutes, and they'd been separated by only a few blocks. It wasn't like he'd been lost at sea for years.

Then he smiled at her, and all her logic went out the window. Sliding her arms around his waist, she gave him a squeeze. “Got the truck?” she asked.

He grunted affirmatively as he hugged her back, the motion slightly stiff and awkward, as if he were exercising muscles that he hadn't used in a while. Her head rested against his chest, and her tired eyes drooped. She felt like she could sleep for a week. Reluctantly, she stepped back again.

“Ready to go home?” she asked.

He smiled a broad, true smile. “Yes.”

Staring at him, she basked in George's warm and gentle attention. “Me too.”

* * *

They didn't know. If they'd known he was there, they wouldn't be looking all happy and lovey-dovey. Their obvious joy burned like salt on the wound of his brother's absence. Anderson felt raw inside, as if everything had been torn out, leaving him hollow. Wilson was gone, and the bitch who'd done it was giggling and chatting with that useless dumbass. If Holloway was such a wonderful tracker, he wouldn't have let Anderson get so close.

The passenger door closed once the murdering bitch was inside. Holloway's boots crunched on the snow as he circled the hood, and Anderson was tempted—so tempted. He could do it. All he'd need to do was slide up behind Holloway without the big guy seeing him and slit his throat. Easy-peasy.

Once that dick was bleeding out, Anderson would get in the truck and drive the city bitch somewhere remote. Out here, it wasn't hard to find a place where someone could scream and scream without anyone else hearing. When he was done making her pay for Wilson's death, he'd slip the knife between her ribs. Then, the screaming would stop.

The urge was so strong, the scene so vivid in his head, that he took a silent step out of the shadows. Just a few more feet to Holloway's truck, and the so-called tracker would be dead, and Wilson's killer would be at his mercy—or his lack of mercy.

George's footsteps grew louder, closer to Anderson's watch point. Fishing his knife out of his pocket, Anderson smiled.

“George!” The sheriff stepped under the streetlight so he was illuminated as clearly as if he were an actor under a spotlight. “Heading home?”

Disappointment flooded Anderson, so thick he could taste the bitter residue. Dropping the knife back in his pocket, he shifted back into the shadows.

“Later,” he mouthed silently.