along the Columbia River highway, Jason lost himself in the music as the landscape changed from skyscrapers to scenic towns nestled in valleys with dense forests making a continuous curtain of green. There were magnificent gorges and breathtaking views of mountain lakes. The sight of Mount Hood never failed to make him catch his breath.
There was something about the natural untamed beauty of this part of the country that made Jason feel as if he’d been reborn, a blank slate where he could selectively choose what he wanted to do, remember or avoid.
The road sign for Mission Grove came into view and within minutes he drove over the single lane road and into the town with a population of 3,956. There had been a time when the population boasted nearly six thousand inhabitants when logging camps sprang up at the height of the logging boom. Now it had become a haven for fishermen, hikers, skiers and retirees and those whose European ancestors came to the Pacific Northwest as traders and settlers in the late-eighteenth century.
Stella’s, an enormous log-hewed building, was erected in a clearing with parking for at least sixty vehicles and overlooked a lake bordered by towering pine trees. Picnic tables and benches were set on a grassy area for those wishing to eat outdoors. There were a number of signs warning diners not to leave food on the tables or on the ground because it would attract bears and other woodland creatures.
Jason pulled into a space between two pickup trucks and cut off the engine. It was a few minutes after five and the lot was half-filled. He walked into Stella’s and was met with a plethora of mouthwatering aromas. He hadn’t taken more than three steps when he stopped short, staring at a young woman in jeans, running shoes, white shirt and matching apron tied around her waist as she leaned over a man seated at a table, her face pressed close to his. At first Jason thought she was going to kiss the diner until he noticed the color of his face. It had gone from bright red to purple. The three other men sharing the table stared mutely, their eyes widening in shock.
It ended when she stood up straight, glaring at him. “Touch me again and I’ll castrate you.” Her voice carried easily in the expansive space. She turned on her heel and walked away with a sensual sway of slender hips. Guffaws of laughter followed her retreat, while the seemingly hapless victim’s chest rose and fell as he struggled to regain what was left of his dignity.
Jason couldn’t stop the smile stealing its way over his features when he realized what had just occurred. Some men had to learn the hard way that women didn’t like to be touched without permission. His gaze swept around the restaurant for an empty table, then spied one with a lone diner. He was fewer than five feet away when the deeply tanned man with shaggy gray-flecked brown hair stood up, hoary-gray eyes widening in surprise.
“I see you haven’t lost your edge,” Jason said quietly.
Chase Bromleigh pulled Jason into a bear hug that threatened to bruise his ribs. “How the hell are you? You told me you were coming two months ago. What did you do? Walk from Florida?”
Attractive lines fanned out around Jason’s gold-flecked eyes as he smiled. “I had a family situation.”
Chase dropped his arms. “And we’re about to have another situation. Bobby doesn’t look too happy.”
A deafening silence descended over Stella’s as six-foot-four, two-hundred-fifty-pound Bobby Henry made a beeline to the table where the customer had harassed his waitress. First the man was sitting, then he was up and running, heading for the door before Bobby could reach him.
The ex-Green Beret folded huge arms over his chest, blue eyes flashing dangerously as lights from hanging fixtures reflected off his shaved pate. “I’ve said it once and I’ll just say it one more time.” His baritone voice carried easily in the hushed silence. “Anyone harassing my niece will have to deal with me. And I promise to tune you up where you wish you’d never taken your first breath.” Reaching behind his back, he pulled out an expandable baton, tapping it against the palm of his large hand. “Do I make myself understood?” There were nods and a few whispered yeses. “Good. Now enjoy your dinner.”
Jason sat down across from Chase. “It looks as if Bobby’s niece can take care of herself.”
Chase nodded. “I’m certain she can if she threatened to castrate the poor man.”
Jason’s gaze shifted to the woman in question when she returned with a tray hoisted on her right shoulder. He didn’t know why, but there was something about her that reminded him of his mother. Perhaps it was the color of her hair or the shape of her eyes. That’s where the similarities ended because she was at least four or five inches taller than Serena Cole.
“When did she start working here?” he asked Chase.
“I assume you’re talking about Greer.”
“If that’s her name, then of course I’m talking about her.”
Chase leaned closer, studying the expression of the talented musician and record producer. “Her name is Greer Evans and she’s just getting over a rather nasty divorce, so if I were you, I’d keep my distance.”
Jason met Chase’s eyes. “I came here to write music not get involved with a woman.”
“Isn’t it time you get involved with a woman?”
“I’ll get involved with one when you do the same, friend.”
Slumping back in his chair, Chase held his head at an angle. “I’m not the marrying kind. Women have accused me of being too moody, and I happen to like coming and going without having to check in with someone.”
Jason stared at the man who owned a home in the same gated community where he’d built Serenity West. Charles, or Chase as he preferred to distinguish himself from his father, was the first to welcome him to the exclusive neighborhood in the Hood River Valley. Like Jason, Chase was born into wealth, but kept a low profile when he’d disappear for months and then reappear as if time had stood still. Although two years his senior, it was difficult to pinpoint Chase’s actual age by looking at him. Tall, rawboned with a network of fine lines around his gray eyes and with finely honed reflexes, he projected an air of danger that kept most people at a distance.
Jason nodded in agreement. “I hear you. Speaking hypothetically. Suppose I had a girlfriend in Florida. Do you think she would go along with me living three thousand miles away for months at a time?”
“She would if she loved you enough.”
“Yeah, right,” Jason quipped, smiling. “Maybe it would work a couple times, but after a while she’d probably accuse me of having another woman to keep me company when I’m not with her.”
Chase picked up a glass of beer, draining it. “Women. We can’t live with them, and we can’t live without them.”
Jason wanted to tell his friend to speak for himself. It wasn’t that he didn’t like women because he did. He didn’t have a steady girlfriend, but what he did have was a very jealous mistress: music and the two were like oil and water. They did not mix.
Chapter 3
Greer spooned a generous portion of fluffy mashed potatoes onto a heavy cafeteria-style dinner plate. She added two thick slices of meat loaf, along with peas and carrots, and then ladled au jus gravy over the meat and potatoes. Reaching for a pair of tongs, she placed a generous serving of corn bread on a separate dish. It had been exactly two weeks since she’d come to Mission
