Chapter One
Find a nice quiet place, he’d said. Leave the modern world behind, he’d said. You’ll get more work done, he’d said. I know the perfect place, retired Marine Colonel Francis Stewart had insisted. At least Alan Stewart’s grandfather had been right about something; Lake Lawford was one of the most beautiful and peaceful places he’d ever been.
Too bad it wasn’t doing a dang thing for his productivity. At this point, Alan was so far behind he could see his own shadow. Not even the dummy in the middle of the room was helping. Weaving his fingers together, he stretched his arms, the cracking of knuckles filling the air. Now if only the sound of fingers tapping on the keyboard could do the same. Staring at the screen he shook his head. Why was this suddenly so difficult? For almost a month he’d been holed up in this cabin searching for his mojo. Actually, twenty-nine days, fourteen hours and, he glanced at the lower corner of the laptop screen, twenty minutes, but who was counting.
Lifting his hands to his arms to rub away a chill, he turned his attention to the fireplace and the intricate structure of logs and kindling waiting to be lit. Not something folks raised in the south learned to build. For the last month temperatures had fooled everyone into believing summer had come early to New England. Not once had it occurred to him to light a fire; he’d done little more than admire the pile of logs. Until now. Today he wondered if Mother Nature was off her meds again.
Since nothing else was working, pushing his seat away from the small desk, Alan crossed the room, shook his head at poor Harvey taped to the chair, and hunched down in front of the old stone fireplace. Somewhere there had to be matches. It took a few seconds to realize that the lovely foot-long hand-painted box to the right of the carved mantle held the matches he needed. It took another moment to discover that the underside of the box was the strike plate. Maybe he’d buy the cabin owner a lighter gun. Not as pretty, but much more practical. Any man who had ever lit a barbecue knew that.
Only two attempts and gloating in his caveman success, he held the lit stick to the crumpled newspaper stuffed under the logs with the kindling. It only took a moment for the paper to catch. Who said back to nature wasn’t easy? Another second and the flames shot up like an erupting volcano. The surprise of it all knocked Alan back on his haunches. Well, flat on his backside, but who was he going to tell?
Shoving upright, he returned to his makeshift desk. Maybe once he warmed up he could get some work done. The snap and crackle of the newly lit fire was like a mesmerizing melody. Already the heat filled the room and warmed his bones. Rubbing his hands together, he laid his fingers on the keys eager to feel the words come to life.
Unfortunately, the only thing coming to life was the smoke in the chimney. Like tendrils in a horror flick, gray waves filled the room. Now what? Shoving his chair back he jumped to his feet, bolted across the room, and stared at the smoking fireplace. He should’ve just raised the thermostat. Vaguely remembering having seen a fire extinguisher under the kitchen sink, he pivoted in that direction and from the corner of his eye spotted a large framed lettering propped prominently on the mantle. OPEN the flu before starting a fire. Of course. But who in heaven’s name wants to stick their arm up a raging fire to open a flu.
To the right a stand of iron utensils held one potentially helpful piece. Suddenly the crook end of a poker made sense. It had nothing to do with pushing and moving logs, it was all about idiots like him who forgot to open the flue. By the time he located the metal lever and pushed it to the opposite position, he might as well have been standing by San Francisco Bay on a foggy fall day. Even though the fireplace now sucked smoke up the chimney, it did nothing for the blanket of smoke hovering in the tiny cabin’s living room.
Freezing cold or not, he had no choice. He opened one window, then the other, and waving his arms madly, opened the front door wide. All he needed now was for some neighbor to call Hart House and report he’d set the place on fire. Grabbing his notebook and the nearby magazine, he did his best to dissipate the cloud of smoke. So focused skyward on his efforts, he almost missed the big tan streak dashing from the porch through the front door and past his ankles until it almost knocked him over and darted down the narrow hall. Quickly, panic licked at his racing heart. What the heck was that? He’d spent more than one afternoon sitting on the front porch and had yet to see anything approach the cabin. He’d spotted a couple of deer up the hillside in the trees, but none of them had been young.
Though now that he thought about it, wasn’t spring the time for all new critters. Could it have been a baby deer that flew past him? Wouldn’t he look silly calling animal control over a baby fawn. Shaking his head, he walked down the hall, hesitating a moment by the kitchen to grab a broom. Just in case. The only open door led to his room. A space too small for anything to hide. Actually, he expected to find the scared and nervous fawn huddling in a corner. When the room looked completely untouched, that meant one thing—whatever had come inside was under the bed.
Sucking in a deep breath, he reminded himself this was not a television show or a horror flick, or even a Stephen King novel. His imagination was probably worse than whatever was actually hiding under the bed. Not standing too close, just in case, he got down on all fours and carefully tilted his head into the dark space. His first concern should have been the rumbling growl that vibrated under the low mattress. He was pretty sure fawns didn’t growl. Glowing green eyes met his. He had absolutely no idea what animal had green eyes and growled, but by the time his brain registered the snarling teeth, he was up and out of that room faster than a speeding bullet. Imagination be damned.
At least he was proud of himself for two things. One, not getting mauled to death. Two, having kept his wits about him enough to close the door behind him. Searching for his phone somewhere on the table, his mind ran through a list of the most likely angry critters that could roam the nearby woods. Mountain lion—okay, maybe a bobcat—kept jumping to the top of the list. Neither of which he could see Fiona Hart or George the handyman grappling with. Like it or not, he needed serious help.
* * * * *
“Well, top of the morning to you.” Katie O’Leary smiled up at Cindy as she came around the corner, arms laden with several loaves of the shop owner’s famed Irish soda bread.
“And the rest of the day to you,” Cindy answered. As kids, the traditional Irish response had been a joke. As an adult, she savored any opportunity to be transported to a kinder, gentler place and time. Any chance to spend time with Katie O’Leary did that. Even though she’d been born on this mountain, raised by her Irish grandmother, she had enough of the Emerald Isle in her to be a breath of fresh air to anyone who crossed her path.
“Looks like you’re feeding an army.”
Cindy laughed. “Not quite. Lucy asked me to come by and pick up a few things. The General has had a hankering for her corned beef, and since the grocery store had a big sale on point end corned beef, Lucy saw no reason not to accommodate him.”
“And a good job of accommodating the entire family she does.”
“Absolutely.” Cindy could not argue. Lucy was technically her grandparents’ housekeeper and cook, but as far as the grandchildren were concerned, she was family. There wasn’t a thing any of them would not do for Lucy, and she was pretty sure there was not a thing Lucy wouldn’t do for them. Though most of them agreed, they wished that Lucy would stick to cooking and cleaning, and bypass the Dolly Levi matchmaking.
“Has Lucy had any luck in getting that young hermit out of his cabin?”
Cindy shook her head. “The man doesn’t open his door for anyone. The few times he’s asked for room service, he’s told Lucy to have George leave it on the porch.”
“I’m wondering if maybe the man has an embarrassment to hide. You know, a nose like Cyrano de Bergerac, or a chin like the Wicked Witch of the West.”
“Or a mask like the Phantom of the Opera?” Cindy smiled.
Katie shook her head. “Now I won’t be making anything that dramatic. But the man must have a strong reason to keep to himself for this long. He hasn’t come into town for anything. This time, I’m thinking Lucy may be right. It may be time for some of us folks to make an extra effort to bring the man out of his shell.”
“Out of his shell?” Cindy narrowed her gaze, interpreting the simple comment and hoping it did not mean Lucy was up to her old tricks.
“Now don’t you look at me like that. I’m not the one who wants your sister Poppy to start making the deliveries to the cabin instead of George.”
She knew it. Would Lucy never learn. Heaving out a sigh, Cindy supposed she should be grateful that Lucy wasn’t planning on locking her sister in the cabin with the man, or poisoning his food so that someone would have to stay and care for him. Or would she?
“And what has your face suddenly looking like you sucked on a lemon?” Katie asked, placing the loaves of fresh bread in a cardboard box along with some of the other items Cindy had picked up.
“Nothing.” She shook her head. Even Lucy wouldn’t stoop that low. After all, as much as folks teased her about setting the house on fire, she didn’t actually set it on fire. Cindy shook her head again. Now she was just being silly. Placing a few more items in a second box, she looked up at her smiling shopkeeper. “I think this is it.”
“Excellent. Let me help you to the car.” Katie came around the counter.
Cindy waved her off. Placing one box on her hip, she reached for the other box with her free arm. “They don’t weigh much. I can do this.”
“Of course you can. And I suppose you’re going to open the car doors with your teeth?” Chuckling at her, Katie grabbed the second box and started for the exit.
“Thank you.” Cindy walked out the door that Katie held, her gaze spotting a big red fox darting across the road at the same time a car sped out of the neighboring road. Her heart lurched in her throat. Yakking with the person in the passenger’s seat, the driver obviously did not see the animal in its path.
“What is it dear?” Katie came to stand beside her, quickly seeing the same thing she did. “Oh, dear.”
As sure as her name was Hyacinth Nelson, DVM, the car knocked the poor animal halfway across the road and kept going. “Damn it.” Practically dropping the box, she hurried to the curb, waiting to see if the fox would shake it off and get up or if he was more seriously injured. When the animal remained lifeless in the middle of the road, she shook her head.
Katie had no doubt been waiting for the same thing. “I’ve got some blankets in the back. I’ll go get them. If he’s not out cold, you’re going to need something to help trap him.”
Nodding, Cindy ran to her vehicle and pulled out her veterinary bag. This was another reason why the mountain desperately needed its own wildlife center for rescue and rehabilitation. Her small clinic was full up and too understaffed to keep a full-time eye on an injured fox. Hurrying across the road and hoping the little guy would just wake up and run off before she got there, a small pup waddled out from under a bush to stand beside his hurt parent. Double blast. Since fathers and mothers both parented their pups, she couldn’t see from this distance if the mother or father had been hit, but if the snarling little one had his way, she wasn’t going to get close enough to find out.
Heels clacking rapidly on the pavement, Katie appeared beside her, holding a pet carrier in one hand and blankets in the other. “Oh my. Where there is one, there has to be more.”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking.” Cindy looked around for signs of more pups, but so far this was the only one. “Now all I have to do is get close enough without having that little one snap at me.”
Katie nodded. “I’ll take care of that.”
Shooting her arm out to stop the woman from hurrying any closer to the injured animal, Cindy shook her head. “The last thing I need on top of an injured wild animal is to have you hurt as well.”
“Nonsense, that little fella’s teeth won’t do any damage.”
Cindy tried really hard not to roll her eyes. When it came to any wild animal, even a fox, it wasn’t just the bite she worried about. Any disease the animals carried, including rabies, could pose a much bigger problem. “Let me see how close I can get.”
“Lass,” Katie touched her arm, “I know you have a way with the animals, but there are two of them and two of us. Let’s do this together.”
As much as Cindy did not want to risk Katie getting hurt, she knew the woman was right. She also knew Katie had a way with people and animals alike. She just hoped this was one of those times when Katie’s special way would work its magic.
Slowly inching toward the two animals and hoping no clueless driver would come barreling up the road, Cindy crouched, speaking softly to the still snarling and snapping pup beside its dead or unconscious parent. “Easy fella. No one is going to hurt you.”
Stepping around her, Katie softly moved ahead, smiling at the pup. She didn’t say a word. She merely sat down just outside of snapping distance, opened the blanket on her lap, made a ticking sound with her throat, and much to Cindy’s surprise, the little guy stopped snarling.
“Okay. Maybe I need to hire you to work at the clinic.” Heaven knew, Cindy and her techs had been snapped, bitten, and scratched by more four legged creatures than she cared to admit.
Not wanting to interrupt the connection between Katie and the pup now tilting its head and studying the shopkeeper, Cindy debated how close she dared get to the injured fox. In the next second, the decision was made for her. The furry guy made up his mind as well. Without hesitation, he walked straight into Katie’s lap and curled into a fluffy ball.
“No maybe.” Cindy chuckled. “I definitely need to hire you for the clinic.”
Wrapping the ends of the small blanket around the baby fox, Katie ignored the compliment. “Now you can check on the mama.”
Turning her head, Cindy got a better look at the injured fox. She was indeed the mama. And thankfully, she was still alive. Now all she had to do was get the girl to the clinic and pray she could fix her up in time to reunite her with the rest of the pups.
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