“Wallace isn’t my boyfriend.” I feel silly for correcting him so quickly. “But Deputy Zane is making sure no one unwanted swings by or is waiting for me when I return.”
He studies me with narrowed eyes. “There’s a lot you’re not telling me.”
An echo from Jess.
Another car pulls in. Two couples. Older. Hats, tennis shoes, fleece jackets. It’s a calming, happy scene, but something about it makes me feel alone. With time banging its mean clock like a heavy metal drummer, it’s the opposite of what I can afford to do right now. Or even if I could afford to be part of it, I know the feeling of serenity would be wasted on me. Too much baggage. I wish I were any one of them.
A part of me knows better than to confide in Jeremy, but I can’t help it. He has a way of making me suspicious and lowering my guard at the same time.
I fill him in about the messages on my car and Jess’s and the tattoo pointing in the direction of the Crazy R. When I’m finished, Jeremy tells me that as soon as he gets somewhere with better cell service, he’ll make calls on my behalf to try to hook me up with Edmonds.
“In the meantime—and I don’t mean to assume too much—but you seem anxious. How about a walk? A few deep breaths?”
He bobs his head, pointing to the beach.
Chapter 41
The sun is setting behind us. Pink light feathers over the majestic mountains of the Great Divide across the lake. The aspens are just beginning to turn, gold and yellow leaves making a collage at the base of the lower hills, their brilliant leaves glimmering in the glow of sunset.
I’m not entirely sure why I’ve agreed to the stroll, but perhaps it’s because it feels beyond good to have someone recognize just how difficult the past few days have been. And remain.
One of the couples who walked down to the beach is standing on the shore and looking out, taking in the scenery of the peaks reflected perfectly in the lake. The others are a little farther down, examining rocks on the shoreline.
“This is why I live here. I fell for it all a long time ago when I’d spend summers with my dad. He loved being in the woods. There’s something about it all that reminds you to not take yourself too seriously. That we all have the same short ...”
“Same short?”
“Time on earth, I was going to say, but that sounded a little too ominous, under my circumstances.”
“I know. I was going to say that you’re one lucky lady, but I rethought that, too.”
“That’s okay. But you know, luck has nothing to do with it. A lot of people don’t get to live in a place like this out of luck. It’s a choice, andwith it come a bunch of sacrifices, like making good money.” I laugh. “And getting a good Pad Thai.”
“True,” he says.
We lock eyes. His face is ruddy in the light and cold wind. I peer out at the lake’s surface rippling from a breeze, shattering the smooth, picture-perfect reflection of the peaks. I wrap my arms around my waist and shiver.
Every detail pops beyond vivid. Every fresh scent of pine, aspen, wet rock, and distant chimney smoke claims me. I wonder if having your life threatened makes it all zing to life. Or if it’s simply the magic of Glacier Park. I’ve forgotten how when you get around such immense surroundings, your senses naturally heighten. Or maybe it’s the addition of Jeremy and his good-natured intensity, and the way his light-brown eyes, practically golden with their flecks of amber, are taking me in when I look his way again.
“You’re cold.” He steps closer, puts an arm around me, and squeezes me gently.
A static charge makes me stiffen. I check that the couple is still close. They are. I move my right hand to my gun. Habit. Or ...?
But he feels strong, and after a second, I let myself have this one moment. I lean into him, go slack. It’s been a very long few days.
I look away from the towering peaks on the north end of the lake and face him. His eyes are the color of pecans in the pale light. My attraction to him is undeniable. But I wonder, if I were to date someone like him, how long would it take before he saw through me? Saw who I really am?
“I do have a thing or two I should confess. One big thing in particular.”
I had no intention of saying these words. It’s as if the past hours have teed them up in my larynx, ready for them to leap out.
“Yeah?” He takes his eyes off the water and turns to me.
For a moment I want to take them back, swallow them down, but then something wilts in me. “I’m willing to tell you about them, about it, if you’re still interested.” The words in the crystal-clear, pure air shockeven me. Where are they coming from? I’ve kept these things to myself forever. Why now? Why him? A journalist of all people?
I know why. Besides wanting to save my own skin from the Confession Artist, I can’t deny that the pressure is getting to me. It’s too big, like it’s all going to blow if I don’t release a tiny bit. I envision a pressure cooker with all kinds of knobs at the top, and my hand reaches for one and twists it ever so slightly to release a small hiss.
And telling him, in an odd way, seems easier than sharing it with someone I’m close to, like opening up to a bartender or a hairdresser instead of your own family. But because Jeremy’s a journalist, I’m not entirely positive I will follow through or, if I do, exactly how much I’ll share, but surely I can expose some of it, maybe how I felt about dragging Sophie along camping.
