Peppermint Creek Inn (11 page)

“That’s fine, but are you sure you should be up?”

Maybe in a couple days. But not now. She wasn’t ready to fight off these wonderful erotic sensations coursing through her.

“Actually I feel pretty good today. I put some of your peppermint antiseptic onto the bullet wound. And I figured I’d air out my hands. If that’s okay with the doctor.” He held up his hands to show her he’d taken off the bandages. The tiny sliver wounds were healing very nicely leaving only red spots behind.

Sara found it hard not to sigh her relief that he was on the mend. “That’s fine. As long as you keep them clean.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She noted the hint of humor in his voice as he saluted sharply and stood at attention.

“At ease, soldier,” Sara quipped.

Tom relaxed then said, “You hungry?”

She nodded.

“Great stuff. I’ve got everything ready. I’m going to take you on a picnic.”

A picnic? A sudden sprig of tears bit the back of her eyelids and she cleared her suddenly tight throat. She’d gone on many picnics when Jack had been alive. Could she go on one with a complete stranger?

He must have noticed her hesitation, because he shuffled his feet like a little kid as if he’d done something wrong and didn’t know what. “I hope it’s all right. I threw together a few things and found a basket in the pantry. I figured since it’s such a nice day and you’ve been working so hard in the garden—”

“I’m not dressed properly,” she blurted out using the first excuse she could come up with. She grimaced when she remembered how she’d dressed for gardening this morning. She wore an ancient pair of jean cutoff shorts, black Rolling Stones T-shirt and her hair hung haphazardly under the wide brimmed straw hat. She wished the ground would open up and she could disappear.

Besides, she couldn’t go on a picnic with him. It was too—intimate.

Tom’s eyes narrowed curiously. “What’s wrong with what you’re wearing?”

“I-I,” she stuttered, looking for an answer. “I look like a scarecrow.”

“A scarecrow, huh? Well you sure are the prettiest scarecrow around these parts.”

Pretty? He thought she was pretty? Excitement coursed through her veins at his comment.

He pried the shovel from her suddenly nervous fingers, stuck the blade deep into the earth and slid his warm hand into hers.

Oh, dear.

Holding hands. Way too intimate.

Her flush got worse. Yet she didn’t dare let go. It felt so good to be held. To feel a man’s fingers twining with hers once again.

“C’mon, let’s go. How about over there?” He pointed to the edge of the meadow where the dark shade of the black forest beckoned a cool invitation.

“Sure.”

He led her out of the garden and through the gate, where he swooped over, grabbed the basket and the homemade family quilt she’d been unable to finish.

She bit her lower lip when she recognized the giant white lacy patch staring straight up at her. It was a piece of material from her wedding gown.

Doubt crept inside her head. How could she go on a picnic with a total stranger? Act as if nothing tragic had happened in her past. Yet that’s exactly what she was doing.

They tramped through the tall meadow grass in silence, Sara’s eyes never leaving the quilt. She’d hidden it in the pantry with the basket, after…well, after her world had fallen apart.

She recognized the patch of navy blue material from Jack’s police uniform. Remembered the day he’d told her he’d quit the force. God, she’d been so happy.

She’d never liked him being a cop. Getting shot at. Never knowing if the next phone call would be the one telling her he was dead, gunned down by some crazed lunatic. But it had happened anyway, hadn’t it?

Right out here in the middle of nowhere. A place they’d thought was safe. A place to raise their children. She angrily brushed away the stray tear dribbling down her cheek. Thankfully, Tom didn’t notice.

Sara didn’t realize they’d reached the edge of the meadow until the shade, cool and delicious, trailed over her heated body. The strong scent of baking pine needles and the wind flickering restfully through the sighing branches above them began calming her rattled nerves.

Tom threw her a concerned look. “You okay?”

Sara found herself grinning. “Just tired.”

“You need food,” he chuckled as he reluctantly let go of her hand.

Spreading the homemade quilt over the grass, he plopped the basket into the middle, slipped off his shoes and sat down cross-legged.

He smiled up at her, patted the ground beside him.

“C’mon, I won’t bite.”

Sara stood at the edge of the quilt, looking down at it, suddenly unwilling to step onto her past. She noticed the blue and white dotted gingham patch of her kitchen curtains from their first apartment in New York. She recognized the ragged patch from an old pair of Jack’s trousers, the same one’s he’d worn to the doctor’s office on the day they’d been told the chances were slim she would ever get pregnant.

Life goes on. She told herself sternly. It has to.

Sara wiggled out of her shoes and stepped onto the quilt and onto her past.

She watched Tom as he gingerly removed the items from the basket. His grin was so innocent and intense. The last thing she wanted was to burst his bubble simply because she couldn’t come to grips with her past.

Sara sat down trying to avoid looking at the patchwork coverlet.

“I hope you like this stuff. I prepared a feast fit for a king, queen and their entire empire. Cooked a heap of potatoes and made a salad and more stuff. Here see for yourself.”

He handed her a foil-wrapped parcel. Gently she unwrapped it and gasped as a hefty sandwich emerged.

“You didn’t have to go through all this trouble, Tom,” she said without taking her eyes off the delicious-looking creation. Her mouth began to water. She hadn’t realized she was so hungry and without further hesitation she took a big bite.

“Mmm. Very good,” she mumbled between bites. “My compliments to the chef.”

“You sound surprised.”

“Actually, yes. Most men I know don’t like to cook. Woman’s work, they say.”

“Well then, you must not have met up with the right man yet.”

Right man? What was he insinuating?

He continued to heap a plate full of potato salad, bean salad, her homemade peppermint-pickled carrots and beets, acting as if he hadn’t said anything out of the ordinary. He’d called her pretty, and now he said she hadn’t met the right man yet? Maybe she was just reading too much into his words.

He wouldn’t be interested in her. She was a widow living alone in the middle of nowhere, dressed like a scarecrow and not even wearing a touch of makeup. It was just her overactive hormones, she reasoned to herself or merely wishful thinking.

He offered her a heaping plate of preserves and salad.

Sara shook her head, gesturing her hand at him to take it away. “Oh, no. I couldn’t eat that much.”

But her taste buds were already into overdrive. She was practically drooling.

“Come on, take it. My beautiful scarecrow needs to put some meat on her bones. Besides whatever you don’t eat, we’ll feed to the ants.”

His green eyes shone with encouragement and suddenly she began to feel better. Much better. She accepted the plate and chuckled. “We’re going to have some mighty big ants running around here then.”

He poured two glasses of ice-cold ginger ale and handed her one then held his glass up in the air. “To good food, good ale, excellent company and a fine ole day. Cheers!”

Sara couldn’t help but laugh as the glasses clinked together.

“
Bon appétit
!” she mumbled between hearty mouthfuls.

They ate with occasional bursts of hearty chatter. Talking of nothing in particular until almost the entire assortment of food had been devoured.

Then she remembered her phone calls last night.

“I forgot to tell you that the phone was working for awhile last night so I tried to get a hold of Garry. He doesn’t own a cell and I couldn’t get him at his place so I called a good friend of his at the New York Police Department—”

Tom’s mouth dropped open in surprise and he visibly paled. The easygoing innocent look flew from his green eyes and was replaced by a look of open distrust.

“You turned me in?”

“No! God, no!” Sara jolted with unease at the idea he’d think she’d betrayed him. “I never mentioned you. I only asked that Garry call me right away. And that it was urgent.”

“Shit! You left a message with the New York police?”

“Really, you don’t have to worry. His friend is very reliable. He used to be a lawyer, he worked with Garry and I didn’t even mention you.”

Tom shook his head and the tiniest bit of a smile flittered across his lips. “I’m sorry, I freaked. I really do trust you. Please, tell me what he said.”

“I just told him I needed to talk to Garry about some family business and if he knew where in Florida Garry and his brother had gone fishing for their vacation. Every year the two of them take a couple of weeks off and do the fishing thing. Anyway, he said Garry was working on a very important personal case that had suddenly come up and he’d forward my message to him.”

“How about your sister? Did you get a hold of her?”

“Well, actually the phone went dead again while I was dialing her number so I couldn’t talk to her. It was still dead this morning when I checked. If it’s the main line into here, it usually doesn’t get fixed unless I tell the hydro people. If it’s out on the main highway, then I’m sure they’re working on it. I guess I really should invest in a cell phone.”

“Might be a good idea.”

“In the meantime, you can stay here at Peppermint Creek and enjoy all it’s healing powers.”

“And all this healing grub,” he said, suddenly cheerful again.

She relaxed as Tom helped himself to some more of her homemade preserves. When his plate was once again full, he asked the question everyone asks of her when they come to Peppermint Creek Inn. “Tell me more about this place.”

She loved it when people asked her to talk about Peppermint Creek Inn. It was her baby, now that everything else was gone. Draining the rest of her ginger ale, she shifted some plates aside, crossed her legs Indian style and began her story all the while her heart hammered against her chest at the intense way he was looking at her again.

“We bought the property from a widow. They were rich. He was involved in the gold and lumber industry just east of here, and he built the log house for her to use as a retreat. She’d always wanted to be a writer and used the house to write many novels in this solitude, but she never got up the nerve to send her work to a publisher.”

Tom frowned. “Sounds kind of tragic.”

Sara nodded in agreement. “When her husband retired, they both moved out here. Realizing they were lonely, they decided to open up a campground and had some rustic cabins built. Her husband died shortly after, and for a few years, she tried to keep the place going by herself, but it was too much work and the winters were horribly lonely so she decided to sell. But she only wanted to sell to someone who really loved nature. A friend of ours mentioned this place to us. Jack and I fell in love with the seclusion right away, but the others—” Sara shrugged her shoulders “—they took a wee bit longer.”

“Others?”

“My partners. My father-in-law Garry and my sister Jo.”

“Jo live here, too?”

“She did. For a while. But she moved back to Maine where she takes care of my parents’ house when they are traveling. But they, as well as my brother and parents help out as often as they can. I usually have someone with me during the on season.”

“And the winters? Aren’t they too long for you and your husband all alone out here?”

Sara bit her lower lip and fingered her wedding band. Should she tell him? Could she trust this stranger not to harm her once he found out no one lived there with her? And could she tell him there wasn’t a husband anymore?

Before she could figure out what to say, he answered his own question.

“Your husband doesn’t live here, does he? You’re just afraid to tell me because you don’t quite trust me. Not yet anyway,” he said confidently. “That’s normal, Sara. Especially since I’ve revealed I’m a criminal.”

“We don’t know that for sure,” she said quickly, suddenly surprised at saying those words. She was beginning to wonder why the police wanted this man dead. They didn’t go around killing criminals, at least not on purpose.

He nodded thoughtfully. His eyes revealed nothing as he gazed toward the nearby diamond-studded lake, shimmering brilliantly beneath the sun’s intense rays.

He changed the subject off himself and onto her again. It was becoming an annoying habit and she wished she could break him of it.

“So what do you do out here in the long, cold winters?”

“I manage to keep myself busy. I make my peppermint products from the peppermint I pick in the creek and when the winter blues set in, I go out and deliver them. That’s where I’ve been the past few days.”

“Products? You get the peppermint from your creek?” He sounded downright impressed and Sara found herself squirming with excitement.

Clasping her hands beneath her chin she said with longing, “Oh, you should see it here in the summer. The air is just drenched with the smell of the peppermint plants. In August, I hire a small crew of students who help harvest the peppermint and we dry them from the rafters in the barn. During the winter I make everything from peppermint-scented candles, bath and massage oils, soaps, antiseptics to candies, cookies, cakes and the list is endless.”

Tom’s brows rose with amused expectation and he licked his lips. “Peppermint cheesecake?”

Sara laughed. “That could be easily arranged.”

“You really love this place. I can see it in your eyes,” Tom said softly. The scorching way he looked at her made her a wee bit self-conscious.

Fingering a square of Amish blue material, she suddenly realized she couldn’t remember what that piece represented. And at the moment she didn’t really care.

“Well, sure. It’s home. What’s not to love?”

He shifted some more dishes off the quilt and stretched out full length beside her.