Chapter Three
Jo shivered as Clayton left the library. The fire in the grate certainly warmed things up but she’d caught a chill that didn’t want to leave her body so easily.
Had she said something wrong? Had she been impertinent to assume his identity? No, he was a fool to think that everyone in Montana…the United States and probably the world…didn’t know who he was. He was one of the richest men on earth. His reclusive nature only added to the media speculation and questions about him.
It had been Clayton Porter’s company that was going to unleash so much destruction on the beauty of these parts. She knew instinctively that if she brought up her concerns, the protest she’d been a part of, he would certainly kick her back out where she came from, or hand her over to his lackey’s.
Was it possible…? Had he ordered them to kill Rick? Had he told them that they should do whatever it took?
Jo shook her head, none of it really made any sense to her. Why would a man like Clayton, rich beyond belief, want to ruin the place he lived? Presumably, he lived in the middle of nowhere because he actually enjoyed it.
“Some refreshment for you,” the butler walked in with some water, hot tea, and a warm wet towel.
“Thank you so much,” Jo understood that she owed it to this man that she was even sitting in Clayton Porter’s house. He’d sensed her distress or maybe felt pity for her, but he’d gone to ask the owner of the house about letting her in and for that she was truly grateful.
“Dinner will be in twenty minutes, you can freshen up in the room directly to the left of this one.” Lincoln turned and left Jo to her water and tea. Jo wanted to cry for the comfort of it all. She’d been so thirsty and cold.
And what would happen when she left this house? She couldn’t stay here forever. Could she have Lincoln take her to the airport… to the police station?
These men were powerful. They had resources that Jo couldn’t possibly know about. Had they paid the local police to look the other way?
Jo felt a wave of panic threaten to engulf her. She stared at the fire and forced herself to breathe normally again.
“Everything will be ok,” Jo lied to herself. She just had to get somewhere safe. Into the mountains, to another state, she could always hitchhike to Canada. She wasn’t sure what or where would be safe but she knew this wasn’t it.
Jo washed her face and found that Lincoln had left a comb, clean towel, and extra toothbrush in the bathroom for her. She smiled when she saw the items then frowned deeply when she looked at herself in the mirror.
She looked like a wild animal. Her hair shot out at odd angles and her face had splotches of mud and what she thought might be Rick's blood. She let the water grow hot then scrubbed at her skin. She used the hand soap and tried to wash the rest of her as best she could.
Her skin felt sore and looked pink by the time she was done but she did feel a good deal better. Perhaps she would be able to borrow a jug of water and some blankets before she left.
Exhaustion was pulling at the edges of her mind. She’d not let herself sleep and the adrenaline from the previous evening had now worn off. Her energy ebbed and bobbed like a buoy in the ocean, but hunger and her unquenchable thirst pulled at her just as much.
Jo walked into the dining room and was surprised to find it a cozy little room. When she looked around Jo froze. There were two Edward Hopper paintings and a larger than life Winslow Homer seascape all lined up together on the dining room wall. Jo caught her breath as she looked at them.
“Are these… are they real?” she asked stupidly.
“Quite,” Clayton’s voice sounded disinterested and Jo didn’t wonder. He’d probably been looking at them for ages. There were probably even better paintings in the other rooms.
Jo turned and sat down at the table. There was only one other place set so it wasn’t hard to pick a spot.
“This is a nice little room,” Jo smiled, “I mean it’s cozy.”
“There’s a more formal dining room, and then the large dining room, but I prefer this one… especially when it’s just me.” Clayton sounded as if he regretted the fact that it wasn’t just him.
“I hope I’m not too much of an imposition,” she was beginning to feel a bit annoyed at his obvious distaste at having her there.
She settled into the chair opposite his. The table was laden with various dishes and Clayton leaned forward and picked up a bowl of sweet potatoes, heaping some onto his plate then handing the dish to her.
“So you live here by yourself?” Jo was having an internal fight over her curiosity, her distaste in his answers, and the awkward silence they now found themselves in.
Clayton’s rich brown eyes looked at her. He had stubble growing in, which only increased the pronouncement of his jaw and the cutting line of his face. He was an incredibly handsome man, Jo had thought so the moment she’d set eyes on him. He had dark brown eyes and thick brown hair that Jo found an urge to put her fingers through.
The moment she’d seen him she’d thought there was something… familiar about him. She’d felt as if she’d met him before, but that also seemed preposterous. She wondered if he’d come into town secretly, pretending to be a normal guy just getting a beer, it was possible—not probable perhaps, but possible.
Jo heaped salad onto her plate then looked at the white fish with capers. Her stomach growled loudly and Jo looked up to see if Clayton had heard it too.
Clayton’s eyes were on her and Jo laughed at the look on his face.
“I’m sorry, I haven’t eaten in awhile, my stomach has no manners,” she looked at the dishes on the table, “and everything looks so good.”
Clayton smiled back at her, “Don’t apologize for being hungry… and yes, I live here by myself—I mean, besides Lincoln.”
“Don’t you get lonely all the way out here?” She remembered how much fun she’d had when the group of protestors had originally formed. They’d talked and laughed, made meals together, been like a little family, until…
“Perhaps, sometimes, but most of the time I appreciate the solitude.” His answer was surprisingly honest and Jo felt herself relax back into her chair.
“To food and solitude,” she raised her wine glass. Clayton raised his as well and their glasses clanked with a brassy sound before they both drank.
“Thank you for letting me stay to dinner,” Jo put her wine glass down in front of her plate.
“Is there someone we can call for you?” Clayton put his napkin on his lap and looked up at Jo.
“Call?” Jo thought of Rick, that was who she would call if she were really only lost in the woods.
“From your campsite? Do you know the location of where you set up, I’m sure I can find a map.” Clayton was eyeing her with a peculiar look.
“A map would be great, thank you. I’m sure I’ll find them without a problem.” Jo felt her stomach clench.
Clayton nodded slowly and began to eat his food. There was silence once again at the table and Jo began to let her imagination run wild. She could take Clayton’s car in the night, leave a note and let him know where he could find it… a few towns over perhaps… Wyoming maybe…
“I am by the way,” his voice came across the table interrupting her train of thought.
“You are what?” She stopped with her fork in the air.
"Clayton Porter. At least once a year I get a journalist or someone trying to get my story. Lincoln always weeds them out, though, so I needn't really have worried."
Jo assumed that was as close as Clayton ever got to apologizing. Not really a smooth talker for all his business deals and prowess.
“I assumed you were… who else would you be?” Jo took a bite of her fish and closed her eyes. The rich buttery texture mixed with the salty capers was unlike anything she had ever tasted, “This is amazing.”
“Thank you,” Clayton smiled for the first time since she’d been there and it looked good on him.
Jo smiled at Clayton as if he’d made it himself and not a fancy chef.
“I made it,” Clayton said just as Jo put another forkful into her mouth.
“You?” Jo looked up in surprise, her mouth still full.
Clayton nodded cheerfully and it was the first time Jo had seen anything close to real happiness or an unguarded expression on his face.
“So you cook?” Jo prompted.
"Lincoln and I switch off, it would hardly be fair to make him do all the cooking and it's only the two of us out here," Clayton leaned down to smell a bit of fish before transferring it to his mouth. He lowered his voice, "Lincoln is really a good deal older than he looks."
Jo thought Lincoln looked rather old as it was.
“Food is one of the great pleasures when you live remotely like this,” Clayton continued. Jo looked around at the various dishes. It really was quite impressive, she had to admit. She was surprised that a billionaire had time for such daily trivialities, but then most probably golfed or spent time with their children and families. Jo remembered the book she’d seen in the library.
“And you read quite a bit?” she asked.
“Mmm,” he nodded. “Who needs to travel when they have a library?” He smiled a rugged, boyish smile and Jo actually blushed. She shifted her weight in her seat. He was really so handsome, how come she hadn’t heard anything about his looks? Perhaps he’d only been a young man when he’d last been in the public eye. Still…
"I'm sure there's a lot you already know about me but I'd like to hear a bit about you. Do you go camping often? Are you from Montana originally? What is your story, Josephine?" He put his fork down and picked up his wine as he leaned forward to look at her with a more evaluative gaze.
Jo couldn’t remember the last time someone had insisted on calling her by her full name and it made her feel like a naughty school girl.
“Born and raised in Montana,” she went for the easiest question then tried to shift tactics. “I’m afraid I’m not very interesting.”
“Somehow I don’t think that’s true at all,” he peered at her with piercing, knowing eyes, “I have a feeling that you are very interesting indeed.”
“Perhaps to someone who lives out in the woods,” she looked down at her plate. Clayton laughed loudly and again Jo was struck by the difference in the man from the library to now.
“I’m not much for sweets so I don’t usually have dessert. I’m afraid you’ll have to go without tonight.”
“Would you mind if I laid down for a few minutes,” Jo was feeling a pulsing wave of sleep ready to crash over her at any moment, “Or maybe for the rest of the night?”
“Of course, Lincoln will show you where you can lay down,” Clayton sat back in his chair. The smile he had worn was gone again and he merely stared at Jo.
“Thank you,” she stood from the table and couldn’t help but feel she was disappointing this man in some way. She tried her best to smile at him but he looked down at the food left on the table and not at her.
She had a fleeting desire to tell him everything. To tell this man that she’d seen her friend shot, that Clayton’s own man was responsible, that… but it didn’t matter. She’d trusted handsome faces before and it had not always been a wise decision. He was powerful in ways she couldn’t even begin to comprehend and that kind of power often came with pitfalls, whole caverns of poor judgment.
“Goodnight then,” she put her napkin on the table and left the room.