CHAPTER SEVEN
Lake Howling, one month later
Newman took his coffee out to the seat he’d built on the edge of his property. Below was the lake, and beyond the mountain range. If he turned twenty-five degrees to the right, he’d see a forest of redwoods, and the rooftops that marked the town of Howling. It was bliss living here.
He’d had the place designed and built, and even helped when and where he could, and he loved it because it fed his soul. Hope would be pleased to hear him speak like that, but it was true. Here he got the peace he’d always craved.
His friends thought his life was a breeze, and for the most it had been. Except Newman carried a secret that he’d never told anyone. Sometimes the guilt choked him, but he’d learned to live with it.
Sipping his coffee, he looked at the house. Long and low, the front was glass and the materials natural, and the entire building looked like it had been there a lifetime. He’d wanted that. His house to be part of the landscape.
Fishing his cell phone out of his pocket as it started buzzing, he smiled as he read the caller ID.
“Yes, I’m hosting poker night, and no, I have the beer, so we’re good, Jake.”
“Ha, yeah, I’m real happy about that, bud, but that’s not actually why I’m calling.”
Newman watched as a boat left the jetty below. He recognized the two heads as belonging to Katie McBride and Cubby Hawker, the local law enforcement. When they weren’t keeping everyone safe, they were on the water.
“My eye’s fine now, Jake, seriously.”
“That’s not why I’m calling either, but you don’t want to take that kind of thing lightly, Newman.”
“We’ve had this conversation already. A month has passed, move on, Jake.”
“Any dizziness?”
“No, Jake.”
“Any nausea or vomiting?”
“No, Jake.”
“This shit is serious, Newman. It’s only been four weeks, and you had a serious shiner. You can have delayed symptoms.”
“I know, you already told me, Jake.”
“Double vision or flashes?”
“No, Mom.”
“Good, but if that changes you let me know.”
“Sure to. I’m watching your sis and her lover head out on their boat for an illicit rendezvous.”
“I just threw up a bit in my mouth, man. Don’t talk about Katie and the word lover in the same sentence.”
Newman had known mention of his sister would draw Jake off topic.
“Seriously? Her and Cubby will be married next year, and they’ll probably make babies, man. You need to get your head around that shit. You being a doctor and all.”
Newman stretched his legs out in front of him, and ignored the thought that had popped into his head while he wasn’t concentrating. Where was Hope? It had been a constant and persistent question since leaving her in Brook. He’d even struck up a conversation with her mother to see if she’d heard anything. He’d kept it casual, well, as casual as a conversation could be with that woman. She hadn’t heard from Hope in weeks, which she wasn’t happy about.
“Oh God, please don’t mention Katie and babies. She was a nightmare when she scratched herself. The thought of her in labor makes me break out in a rash.”
“Put your head between your knees,” Newman said, watching a bird glide by. “So if you’re not ringing about poker night, what do you want help with now?”
“Actually, I don’t want anything. I’m in the Hoot, and the bus from Brook just pulled up outside.”
“You eating a chicken and cheesy crust?” Buster, another friend, owned the Hoot café, and made the best pies he’d ever tasted—and he’d made it a mission to taste many.
“I am, and coffee. Just about to start on my chocolate and caramel muffin.”
“Damn,” Newman cursed. “I had granola.”
Jake laughed. “Anyway, your girl just got off.”
“I don’t have a girl, as you very well know, McBride.”
“Hope Lawrence.”
And just like that the lovely calm feeling he’d had upon waking in his own bed was gone. He was suddenly tense. His feet hit the ground, and he was striding back to the house seconds later.
“You sure?”
“I know who Hope Lawrence is, bud. Bad dress sense, black hair, and a serious attitude.”
“That’s the one. I’m on my way.” He pocketed his cell before Jake could say anything further, and was in his car minutes later, heading down the driveway.
Newman didn’t usually do anything at pace when he was home. He walked most places or occasionally jogged, but when he was here he tried not to stress out too much. He did that enough when he left for work. In fact, if anyone from Howling saw him out of here, they’d probably not recognize him. Everyone believed he was like this all the time, which was definitely not the case. He just hid stuff well.
He drove along the ridge, passing Katie Mc Bride and Cubby Hawker’s house, then down the road. Turning right at the bottom, he saw the turnoff to Branna, Rose, and Jake McBride’s house, then Ethan aka Tex and Annabelle Gelderman’s driveway. He liked that. Liked that if he needed the company of people he loved and respected, he’d have it in minutes, but if he didn’t, then they respected his privacy as he did theirs.
The glittering blue waters of Lake Howling sat to his left. A few boats were cruising around, and he caught sight of someone on water skis. To his right were the Redwoods that had stood sentry over Lake Howling and its residents for years.
Thoughts came and went as he drove. Where had Hope been? Was she well? Try to stay calm, Newman. Yelling would not help the situation. She was back, safe, and that was the important thing… right?
“It’s a crime in any county to strangle someone,” he reminded himself.
Driving past the residential part of Howling, where most of the locals lived who weren’t tucked-up driveways in the trees, he swung into the main street. Immaculate as always, at the early hour of 9:00 a.m., it had plenty of activity. The shops were rustic and in keeping with the whole setting of cute small town. Flowers ran up the middle of the street, and flags fluttered from the Lair, which was the sheriff’s office, and the church, which was the oldest building in Howling.
He found a parking spot outside the Hoot. Jake and Buster were outside, leaning on the front window.
“Six and a half minutes,” Jake said, looking at his watch. Tall and dark, he and his mother were the doctors in town and ran the medical center. Buster was shorter and stocky, and where Jake had a ready smile, Buster had a scowl behind which hid a heart of pure marshmallow.
“Not a bad time for you, man, seeing as my great-aunt Delilah drives faster than you usually.”
“You don’t have a great-aunt Delilah, Buster.”
“But if I did, she’d be faster.”
“Whatever. Where did she go?”
“Who?” both men said.
“Are we really going to play this game?” Newman sighed. “You know I mean Hope.”
“She got off the bus, looked around, and then headed down the road,” Buster said. “You must have just missed her on your way in. Why has she got you so bent out of shape? Tex said he even saw you angry in Brook when she did a runner on you.”
“I told you why.”
“You found her drunk and alone. Yeah, I get that part, but not why you’ve been preoccupied for weeks,” Buster said. He’d taken out a cloth and was polishing the window of his café.
“You’re smearing it,” Newman felt duty bound to say. Willow, Buster’s girl, would be furious when she saw it.
“Men don’t say shit like that, Newman. Now focus,” Jake said. “What’s the deal with you and Hope?” He was eating a muffin. Newman took it.
“No deal. See you later.” He lifted his free hand and started down the street. While he ate, Newman looked in shop windows, but didn’t see her.
“I need a hand changing the light in the rear, Newman, if you have a minute?”
“I’m a bit busy right now, Mrs. Brack, but I’ll get Jake for you.” Stepping out on the street, he saw his friend still standing outside.
“Jake!” His head turned at Newman’s roar.
“What!”
“Mrs. Brack wants you!”
“You’re a dear.” She patted his cheek. “I can always rely on you, Newman.”
“That’s me,” he muttered, “the reliable one.” What the hell was the matter with him? He usually didn’t mind helping people, in fact he thrived on it. He must be coming down with something.
Leaving town on the road he’d just driven in on, he saw her up ahead. Long, determined stride. Something in his chest squeezed and then released. She was safe and home. Increasing his pace, he soon drew near.
“I’ve imagined shaking you quite a few times in the last few weeks.”
She shrieked, then turned, clutching her chest.
“My uncle Bevan called, he wants his poker shirt back,” Newman said, running his eyes over the long lime-green-and-orange checkered shirt she wore. It probably had once been a man’s, as the fit was loose and he could see nothing of her body, which he now knew was quite something. The fabric looked silky, and not in a good way. She wore a short black skirt and the shit kickers. Her hair was up on her head in a messy knot. The hell of it was he thought she looked beautiful, and how was that possible? Newman liked his woman polished and dressed in at least last year’s fashions.
“Christ, you nearly stopped my heart.”
“Payback’s a bitch.”
She dropped her gaze.
“You going to apologize?”
“No. I told you I didn’t want to come back here, so I left.”
“Without telling me. No note, nothing. I woke to find you’d run.”
Her teeth snapped together. “I don’t do that kind of thing.”
“You don’t do basic human courtesy?”
“No. I’m rude and belligerent, which I believe we’ve covered before.”
She eased the straps on her backpack, the weight obviously heavy.
“No one would blame me for shaking the shit out of you. Hell, I’d probably even get a medal.”
“I-I wasn’t ready to come back then.”
And just like that his anger fled. That one small stutter, the only hint of her vulnerability, and he suddenly wanted to haul her into his arms and kiss her.
“Let me carry that.” He reached for her backpack, but she stepped back.
“I got it… thanks.”
“Jesus, Hope, do you ever take a break?”
“From what?”
“Being independent and downright difficult. Plus, there’s the ungrateful side to your winning personality.”
She sighed, hard enough to part his hair.
“Look, Newman, don’t keep confusing me with your people. I’m not like them. I do things solo. Always have and always will. I’m sorry if my actions disappointed you, but get used to it, that’s what I do.”
“Do?”
“I truly didn’t think it would bother you,” she said, not answering his question.
“If you believed that you wouldn’t have run away.”
“Whatever. Now I have to go.”
“Where you going?” Newman wrestled her backpack off her shoulders, and slipped it onto his.
“What the hell?”
“It’s heavy, you’re tired, and I’m not. So I’ll carry it for you.”
“I don’t need you looking out for me, Newman, and I’m not sure why you would want to after what’s happened and the way I treated you.”
“I’m hoping my good manners will rub off on you.”
She didn’t argue again, which told him she was tired, and yes the backpack had definitely grown in weight since he’d last seen her.
“Where have you been?”
“Here and there.”
“My favorite places. Where are you going now?”
“To my mother’s house. I need to drop my stuff there.”
“Your home?”
“The very one,” she muttered. “Now give me my backpack and go away.”
“I’m not sure why the hell I bother with you.”
“Neither am I.”
She looked around them as they walked.
“You forget how beautiful this place is when you’ve been gone a while. It’s like you block it out, and then tell yourself it’s not all that you thought it was… but it really is.”
Newman made an agreeing sound, because she’d pretty much nailed how he felt when he left Howling.
“I’ve always thought of them as guards,” she said, pointing at the redwoods. “Protectors.”
“Me too.”
They didn’t speak again, and minutes later they walked into her street. Her house was down a driveway, tucked out of sight. He’d never been there before, but knew where she had lived.
“I got it now, thanks.”
“All good.” He ignored Hope as she reached for her backpack, and kept walking down the drive. He stopped at the end when faced with a pristine little white house. It had green trim, and flower beds running along the front. No weeds or leaves were in sight, and the windows were sparkling.
“Did your mom use a ruler to plant those?”
“You’ve met my mom, right? What do you think?”
“I’ve never been here before.”
“No reason to start now.” Hope grabbed the backpack and gave it a tug, sending him backward several steps.
“Hope?”
Both of them looked to the now open door, and there stood Militant Lawrence.