CHAPTER ONE
All Mandy needed was four more inches to get the perfect shot, but no matter which direction she moved along the gate, the black-walnut tree blocked part of her view. She glanced over her shoulder. The only vehicle on the neglected lane was her ancient blue VW Golf, or the “Golf Ball,” named for the many dents inflicted by an Indiana hailstorm. Vehicles sped by on the county road beyond. Still, she felt as if someone were watching her.
Sometime in the last decade, the old wrought-iron gate had been replaced with a standard metal five-row pole gate. The rock columns that supported the archway now crumbled from their lofty height to little taller than her own five and a half feet. Haphazard piles of rubble lay within the fence line—a victim of the tornado that had hopscotched across the area three years ago. New chain-link fencing replaced the old pole fence.
Mandy tested the gate. The chain didn’t swing more than five inches either way. Climbing on the lowest rail and leaning over the top, she tried again, but the tree still obscured her view. The second rail wasn’t any better, nor the third. On the fourth, her positioning became precarious but gave her the best view so far. After checking to make sure no one was watching, she swung her leg over the top rail and straddled the gate, adjusting her flowing skirt to keep the fabric from tangling around her knees. Grandma Mae’s voice echoed in her head: “Amanda, ladies don’t climb in dresses,” but she needed to take the shot. Not as clean a shot as she would get from inside the gate, but good enough. Mandy leaned as far as she dared to the right and focused through the viewfinder. Click.
“Hey! No trespassing!” a harsh male voice bellowed behind her.
Mandy turned to see who, and her world turned upside down. Her foot hit the ground first, but she kept going.
As the air came back into her lungs, three things came to her—the pain in her left foot, the blue, plastic-looking gun pointed at her face, and the portion of her skirt waving at her from the gate. Ignoring the toy gun, she sat up and yelped. There would be bruises. She tugged the remains of her skirt down. A chunk was missing from the right side, exposing more of her thigh than she was comfortable with.
The camera. Where was it? Several black lumps lay four feet away. She closed her eyes, hoping she was seeing double. No use. The camera lens lay in three pieces on the cracked asphalt. If she were lucky, the man holding the funny plastic gun would shoot her, and maybe it would fire real bullets and not water. Death would be better than facing her faculty adviser. She turned her attention to the gun holder.
“Can’t you read?” He waved the gun toward one of the “No Trespassing” signs hanging every ten yards along the fence.
“Of course, I can. I was on that side of the fence. I am only trespassing because I fell.” She attempted to look him in the eye, but the sun peeking at her over his shoulder forced her to squint.
“Get up.”
Standing up in a skirt from her position was no easy feat. Grandma Mae would have a hissy fit if she saw me now.
“Hurry up.”
“You can be a gentleman and put the gun away and give me a hand, or you can wait.”
He chose to wait.
Mandy suppressed a cry as she stood, then adjusted her weight to her right leg.
“So, what were you doing? Coming to vandalize the old Crawford place?” Even standing she couldn’t see his face well. The shadow of the hat he wore hid most of it.
“I think it should be fairly obvious my intention isn’t to vandalize anything.” Mandy pointed to the broken camera.
“You were climbing over the gate.”
“I climbed on the gate. I had no intention of setting foot on the ground.”
“Who sent you?” He waved the gun again.
Mandy gritted her teeth to keep the sarcastic comments inside. “No one sent me.”
“That is what the last one said before hightailing it off to the land developers in Chicago.”
Mandy hopped a step to the gate.
“Hold it right there.”
She rolled her eyes. “Will you please put the squirt gun away so we can sort this out?”
The man shifted. He was younger than she’d first thought, only a year or two older than her twenty-six years.
She hopped again. “I know you don’t believe me, but in case you haven’t noticed, I am hardly in a position to run away or to hurt you.”
He lowered the gun. “This isn’t a squirt gun; it is the newest prototype of printable gun.”
“That thing can shoot real bullets?” The thought that the plastic gun didn’t squirt water caused a tremor to pass through her.
“It can, but in this case they are rubber.” He slid the gun into a holster at his back.
Mandy hopped another step. “If you can give me a hand, I will leave. I seem to have injured my foot.”
The man shook his head and walked over to the end of the gate, inserted a key in the padlock, and removed the chain. Instead of coming to help her, he walked over to the remains of the camera. “That looks like one expensive camera.”
Mandy limped, using the gate for support. “Tell me about it.”
“What did you say?” The man picked up the pieces and strode over to intercept her.
“I was agreeing. It is a very expensive camera.”
Cradling the camera pieces, he blocked her way. “Probably more than a teenager like you can afford. Who paid you to come here?”
“Can’t you read? The camera is clearly marked ‘University Property.’” Mandy jabbed a finger at the UPC inventory sticker.
“Why would the university want pictures of this place?”
“They don’t. I do. I borrowed the camera for my MFA project, and I’m not a teenager.”
For a split second, Mandy thought she saw a flicker of something other than anger, but it was difficult to tell with the brim of his hat shading his face.
“You’re bleeding.” He pointed to her arm.
Blood trickled from her elbow. “Just a bit.” Not like a few drops of blood were her biggest problem at the moment.
“Aren’t you going to do something about that?”
“Like what? Rip the rest of my skirt off and wrap it?”
The man walked around her and retrieved the portion of her skirt still clinging to the upper rail. “Here.”
“Thanks.” His chivalry was unparalleled. She wrapped the remnant around her arm. He stood close enough now that she could see him clearly. She would know those blue eyes anywhere. “Danny?”
He stepped back. “No one calls me that. I don’t care what you think you know from the tabloids. You don’t know me.”
“Yes, I do. The summer you lived here—”
“Stop.” He shoved the camera and lens parts at her. “Just leave.” He pushed the gate open wide.
Mandy felt him watching as she dumped the pieces in the camera bag she’d left on the side of the road. “And to think Grandma Mae thought you would grow up to be a gentleman,” she muttered as she hoisted the bag to her shoulder. She winced when the strap hit a bruise.
Daniel froze in place, his hand on the gate. “What did you say?”
“I said Grandma Mae was wrong about you.” Mandy limped to the car, the tears she had managed to keep at bay now escaping. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. The old Danny would have helped her.
When she checked the rearview mirror, he still stood at the gate.