hardware store, who apparently does have a scanner, and they were discussing your prowler. Ben was really champing at the bit for information—wanted to know if Fish had made an arrest.”
“Well, if you heard her answer, you know he didn’t. And technically, the guy was Tim Decker’s prowler. Apparently, Tim’s not one of his favorite people.”
“Apparently.” Nate’s broad face lined in concern. “Rachel,” he began hesitantly, “I know this is none of my business, but … do you have a gun?”
“A gun?” she repeated.
He hurried to explain himself. “Only for your protection. What if this guy thinks you recognized him? You’re miles from help if you need it.”
First Jake’s suggestion that she get a dog, now this. God had been good to her. He’d blessed her with wonderful friends … and one very caring neighbor. “Nate, I appreciate your concern, but really, who would risk killing someone over an act of vandalism? We’re not talking about the mob here.”
“I know that, but you’re alone,” he said, pressing his point. “Non-mob things happen. Now if you want a gun—”
“No way.” Rising, she retrieved the coffee carafe and returned to fill their cups. “A gun in the hand of someone who’s never used one is a surefire recipe for disaster.” She reached under the counter for a basket filled with stir sticks and sugar and creamer packets. “Now let’s talk about something uplifting. Something that will put a smile on my face.”
Still troubled but seeming to know that she wouldn’t change her mind, he conceded. “Okay, like what?”
Rachel laughed. “Well, you could tell me that my propane will be cheaper this year.”
* * *
Maggie crashed into the woods after another chipmunk, and with a sharp whistle, Jake called her back and slowed his run. The sun was sliding toward the horizon, but the day was still warm, full of the smells, sights and sounds of spring. Every bird in the valley was out doing what birds did, and seemingly overnight, grassy fields had become endless carpets of dandelions.
He wiped his face with a hand towel, jammed it into his back pocket, then settled into a cool-down jog. He paused to listen outside Rachel’s camp store. Music. Somewhere on the property, country singer Alan Jackson was recalling coming of age on the Chattahoochee. Jake followed the song to the bathhouses—and Rachel. She’d propped the door open with a rock, and low sunlight shone through it, highlighting her face-framing sable hair as she slapped mint green paint on a wall. She looked young and industrious in cutoff jeans and a yellow T-shirt.
She whirled around in surprise when Maggie dashed past him and bolted inside to say hello, her toenails clicking on the concrete floor. “Three visits in one day?” she said, laughing and scrubbing her fingers through the setter’s silky coat. “You two are going to spoil me.”
Jake worked up a smile. That’s what he’d been afraid of. Not the spoiling part. He was worried about sending the wrong message. He didn’t want her thinking what women probably thought when a man made three trips to see them in one day. He was here only because his house felt empty, he’d put in a full day, and he was—as his grandmother used to say—at loose ends.
Rachel took in his navy cutoffs and white tank top. “Out for a run?”
“Just a short one. I was about to head for home when I heard the music and thought I’d see what you were up to.”
She had amazing eyes. Eyes that saw too much, he decided, recalling the conversation he’d put a stop to this morning. He knew he’d piqued her interest. But no man with an ounce of pride admitted to a beautiful woman—even one who still wore a wedding band—that his fiancée had preferred someone else to him.
He glanced around at Rachel’s handiwork. “Looks good.” The bathhouse was constructed of cement blocks, smooth now under countless coats of paint. Above white fixtures, a long, wood-framed mirror was bolted to the wall, while the opposite wall hosted freshly painted shower stalls. “Got another brush? I’ll help you finish.”
“Thanks, but I only have one wall to go.” Rachel dipped to scoop a rag from the floor, then wiped her brush and walked toward him. She was long and lithe, grace in motion on two white-sneakered feet. “I was ready to call it a day anyway. Give me a minute to seal the paint can and clean my brush, then we can walk up to the store. You and Maggie look like you could use a cold drink—and I know I could use one.”
“Sounds good,” he said. “But I’m buying.”
They didn’t stay at the camp store; they walked. The store was too warm, and the sunset was too vibrant to miss. In a while, they found themselves sipping Pepsi from plastic bottles near the site of last night’s vandalism. The twilight song of the peepers filled the air, Alan Jackson’s boyhood reminiscing long gone.
Rachel glanced at the partially chewed-up earth and lone piece of equipment and once again felt a twinge of guilt over the dozer’s damage when it was in her care.
Jake spoke. “Looks like Decker moved his other equipment before it could suffer a similar fate.”
Rachel nodded. “Chief Perris suggested it, but Tim had already decided to move them until they were ready to resume work. He’s sending a flatbed for the bulldozer tomorrow.”
“Nothing from the police yet?”
“No, but the way Perris feels about me—make that women in general—I’m not expecting a call.”
Rachel watched him take another swig of his Pepsi, then screw the cap back on. “I have a favor to ask.”
A favor? “Since I can’t imagine you asking anything I wouldn’t say yes to … sure. What do you need?”
“I’d like you to invite Maggie to a slumber party.”
She cocked her head. “You want me to keep your dog overnight?”
“Yeah, I do. I have a meeting in Harrisburg first thing tomorrow morning. I could drive down there at the crack of dawn, but I’d rather leave tonight.” He pinned his gaze on the dark pines and leafy maples lining the road ahead. “Naturally, I explained to her that she’d be fine in her pen, but after hearing about your prowler … Well, weird as it sounds, Maggie said she’s afraid to stay alone.”
Rachel smiled, a lovely warmth enveloping her. He wasn’t concerned about Maggie, he was concerned about her. “Maybe you should tell Maggie that she has nothing to be afraid of. Now that the nasty man has accomplished his nasty deed, there’s no reason for him to come back.”
As if to punctuate his point, Maggie crashed out of the darkening woods and undergrowth, her golden-red fur wet after a splash through the creek below. She circled her good-looking master, then nuzzled his hand until he reached down to scratch behind her ear. But his gaze never left Rachel’s.
“You’re probably right,” he said, straightening. “Chances are he won’t come back, but I still wish you’d keep her. She wouldn’t be any trouble. She could sleep on your deck.”
“Jake—”
Briefly touching a finger to her lips, he softened his voice. “Before you refuse again, maybe I
