His victim, who had been found with his hands and ankles bound by duct tape, a strip across his mouth as well, had been his opposite—Dickie Randolph had been a low-class thug who’d owned a number of questionable establishments like massage parlors, strip clubs and adult clubs, all with the reputation of illegal drug use, prostitution and sex play. The two men had had nothing in common but there’d been hints of association—silent partner association that would be difficult to impossible to prove.
Immediately following the phone threat, Conner and the D.A., Max, had packed Katie and the boys off to Burlington, Vermont. Max knew of a friend of a friend’s small rental house there and the same friend had hooked them up with a pediatric dentist who’d been looking for an accountant. Katie would be comfortable, independent and far, far away.
As much as Conner had wanted to accommodate his hostess, Brie Valenzuela, it had been hard to be cheery. He’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time—right on his own property—and now he’d lost too much. He missed Katie and the boys. He was going to work construction for a while before he had to testify and then get permanently relocated before Mathis could exact his revenge.
The guy who’d been upbeat in spite of everything was no more.
But as he made his way to the cabins on the river, sunlight broke through the clouds, sending a shaft of gold through the majestic redwoods. The early-March weather was wet and cold, but the beam of sunlight was promising. The green was so dense and bright with the sparkling wet of a recent rain, he was taken aback by the natural beauty of the place. Maybe, he thought… Maybe this isn’t the worst place to be exiled. Time would tell.
He pulled up to the house and cabins—it was a serene little complex, lush and green, a river rushing by. A man came out of the house at the sound of Conner’s truck. By the time he was getting out of the truck, the man had his hand out. “You must be Conner.”
“Yes, sir,” he said.
He laughed. “You start sirring me and I’ll forget I’m civilian now. I’m Luke Riordan. My wife, Shelby, and I take care of these cabins. Number four is unlocked, but the key hangs on a hook by the door. We don’t do meals, but we have a phone you can use if you need to. There’s satellite internet hookup in case you brought a laptop. And there’s a kitchenette and coffeepot, but your best bet for tonight is Jack’s Bar, just ten minutes farther up 36 in Virgin River. The food is amazing and the company isn’t bad.”
“Thanks, I’ll check that out. Are the rest of your cabins full?”
“Nah, hardly anyone right now. We’re between hunting seasons, and the fishing is just starting to pick up. Deer hunting starts in the fall and then there’s water fowl through January. Salmon is great from late summer to December and then slows way down. Summer people start showing up in a couple of months, so from June through January we’re busy. I try to do repairs and upgrades these winter months.”
“Pretty wet around here,” Conner observed.
“The rain will let up in April. If we get a dry day, you’re welcome to use my grill anytime. It’s right in the storage shed. Also in the shed—rods and reels. Help yourself.”
Conner almost smiled. “Full-service lodge.”
“Not even close, my friend. We take care of the linens after you check out, but since you might be here awhile, you’ll have to make use of that little washer and dryer in the cabin. We have a man, Art, who will do some cleaning in there if you feel like a little help. You know—bathroom, floor, shower, that sort of thing. There’s a sign you can hang on the door if you want cleaning. He’s challenged—he has Down syndrome—but he’s smart and very competent. Good guy.”
“Thanks, but I’ve been cleaning for myself for quite a while. I’ll be fine.”
“Let me help you unload a few things,” Luke offered.
“I guess I’ll move in and go have a beer and some dinner.”
“Sounds like a good plan. You gonna be able to find your way back here?”
“I think so. Left turn at the dead sequoia?”
Luke laughed. “That’ll get you home.”
Home. It was a memory. But Conner said, “Thanks.”
Luke helped him move a couple of duffels and boxes into the cabin, shook his hand and went back to his house, his family. Alone once more, Conner unpacked some clothes into the one and only chest of drawers in the room. He plugged in his laptop to recharge it—he and Katie had changed all their accounts, user names and passwords. Although Brie hadn’t said anything, the D.A. had told him they could keep in touch by internet but recommended they not use their names or previously used ID’s, and they should resist the urge to Skype, just on the off chance their internet access was compromised.
What remained of the hardware store had been razed, and all that was left was the lot, but it was in a prime location. Conner had insurance money for rebuilding; it had been put in an investment account under his new identity and would be there for him when this nightmare ended. With his share of the sale of the lot and insurance on the building and stock, he could start over. But not in Sacramento, where he’d spent his entire life except for two years in the army.
He got to that little Virgin River bar just before six and damn near smiled in appreciation. Conner was a custom builder at the heart of things and this establishment was put together real nice. The bar itself was a fine piece of furniture. Someone here favored beeswax as a buffer and shiner, and he could almost smell it. The place was cozy, hospitable and clean as a whistle. He found himself a spot at the end of the bar where he could observe.
“Hey, pardner, what can I get you?” the bartender asked.
“I’ll take a light beer and how about a menu?”
“No problem on the beer, but I’m afraid we don’t have a menu. Our cook fixes up whatever he’s in the mood for. You lucked out there if you like fish—the trout are jumping and Preacher, that’s the cook, has been spending some time out at the river. He has a stuffed trout that will just bring you to your knees.”
“Sounds good to me,” Conner said.
He was immediately served up a beer, and the bartender said, “I’m Jack. This is my place. You passing through?”
“I hope so,” he said, lifting the beer to his lips.
Jack smiled. “Don’t be in such a hurry. This place is about to get real pretty, soon as the rain lets up. And when you see what the melting snowpack does to that river, you’ll just fall in love. No wonder our fish get so big.”
And then Jack was gone, wandering down the bar to take care of other patrons, serving a few plates, picking up a few. The atmosphere was real friendly; everyone seemed acquainted, and there was a small part of Conner that wondered, Can I make a life here? For a while? Imagine checking into a hotel and having the manager offer housekeeping if you were in the mood, no extra charge. Imagine a bar and grill that served up only what the cook felt like.
Jack returned a little later to ask, “How you doing on that beer? Dinner’s ready whenever you are.”
“Sure,” Conner said. “I’m ready. I’m good on the beer.”
While Jack was back getting his dinner, a young woman came into the bar. She pushed down the collar of her jacket and shook out her dark blond hair—lots of loose curls reached her shoulders. She was a little on the thin side but pretty. The thing that got to him, she looked so clean. Or pure, like some Sunday-school teacher or something. Girl-next-door decent. Her complexion was peachy, her eyes dark, her lips full and pink. There was every reason why that sort of thing would appeal to Conner, after his experience with his ex-wife.
But then, Samantha had come across as squeaky clean, too, even classy. There hadn’t been a hint of cheap in her. Appearances meant nothing.
Even so, Conner had been a long time without a woman, and it was wearing on him. All he wanted was to get his life back, take care of h
is sister and nephews, never be vulnerable to a woman again. He wasn’t the least worried about dying a lonely old man; he, Katie and the boys were very close. Even if Katie found a perfect second husband, he’d always be Uncle Danny.... Well, Uncle Conner now. And that was good enough for him.
Jack put the fish in front of him but quickly headed for the other end of the bar where the Sunday-school teacher waited. Before long a man came into the bar, put an arm around the Sunday-school teacher’s shoulders and gave her a kiss on the temple.
Well, that was that. Temptation eliminated, as far as Conner was concerned.
Two
Leslie Petruso pulled up to the little bar in town, parked and went inside. She immediately felt a little better, a little safer. She liked the look of the place, as though it welcomed her to a simpler life. That’s all she wanted, really—something that was less complicated. She didn’t have to wait long at the bar before a big, good-looking bartender was there, grinning. “What can I get you, miss?”
“How about a glass of Merlot? I’m meeting someone, but I see he’s not here yet.”
She was instantly served the wine. “Anyone I know?” the bartender asked.
“Maybe. Paul Haggerty?”
He smiled. “One of my best friends. We served in Iraq together a long time ago. I’m Jack,” he said, putting out his hand.
“Leslie. How do you do?”
“Paul’s a friend of yours?”
“I hope so,” she said. “He was once my boss in Grants Pass. One of several bosses, I should say. I was the office manager for Haggerty Construction.”
“Pleasure to meet you!” Jack said. “Here for a visit?”
“Actually, if Paul hasn’t changed his mind, I’m here to work as his secretary. Office manager. Whatever he needs.”
“Well now,” Jack said. “’Bout time he did that! His company just keeps growing. He’s got himself a real fine reputation around here.”
“They’re the best, the Haggertys.”
“And speak of the devil,” Jack said, lifting his chin in the direction of the door.
She turned and smiled to see Paul. He was a sight for sore eyes. It had been a long time. His visits to Grants Pass for business had tapered off as his arm of the company in Virgin River grew larger and more demanding. He and his wife and kids still visited his family, but Leslie hadn’t been a part of that side of things.
He dragged off his hat in that boyish way of his and grinned at her. He put an arm around her shoulders, leaned down to give her a kiss on the temple and said, “God, it’s good to see you! How are you?”
And damn it all, her lips began to quiver slightly, and she had to press them together to keep from crying. Her eyes misted over.
“Aw, come on, honey,” he said, squeezing her a little harder. “Jack, how about a beer?”
“You got it,” Jack said, escaping.
“Take it easy now,” Paul said. “We’re going to have a drink, then I’ll take you to the rental to drop off your luggage and car and then I’m taking you home to dinner. Vanni made a roast—an event at our house, you know. I’ll drive you home after—to your new home.”
“You don’t have to go to all that trouble, Paul. I can drive.”
“Getting around these mountains after dark can be dicey when they’re new to you. You can start doing all that without any help from your friends tomorrow. Your furniture arrived, and since there wasn’t that much, Vanni just instructed the movers to unpack the boxes and put things away. There are clean sheets on the bed and clean towels in the bathroom. You can organize it your own way when you feel like it.”
“I wish she hadn’t gone to so much trouble,” Leslie said.
“Don’t worry about it. She’s so grateful you’re here. She’s been handling a lot of my paperwork, what I can’t keep up with, and she’s really too busy for even that right now.”
“She’s grateful? Oh, Paul, I’m not sure what I would have done if you hadn’t stepped up with a job when your dad asked you!”
“I hope you don’t regret it when you see my office. We’re going to have to move a few things around, but right now I’m in a construction trailer.”
“Thank you, Paul,” she said. She took a sip. Then in a tremulous voice she added, “I just had to get out of there.”
He gave her a moment before he asked, “That bad, huh?”
She gave a hollow little laugh and shook her head. “You have no idea how badly I wanted to hold my head high and let it all roll off. I tried pretending I didn’t care, but I’m just not as strong as I’d like to be.”
He put a finger under her chin and smiled into her sad eyes. “Leslie, you don’t give yourself enough credit. First of all, you’re not the one who looks bad—it’s Greg who looks like an idiot and jerk. And second, you’re an amazing woman who has the respect of the company and the whole community.”
“That’s nice of you to say,” she replied. “But our divorce and his remarriage really took its toll. I see them everywhere! Did you know that she’s now pregnant with the baby he told me he didn’t want to have? Have with me, I guess.”
Paul leaned his forehead against hers. “Les, I’m sorry.”
She pulled back and lifted her chin. “I have to find a way to rebuild my self-esteem. I sure couldn’t do it in Grants Pass where Greg seems to think we can remain friends.”
“We’ll work on that. You’ll feel better about yourself in no time. Leslie, this isn’t about your failure. It’s about his.”
“Intellectually I know that,” she said. “But you have to understand, I have a lot more to overcome than you realize. I mean, I wasn’t even asked to the prom.”
Paul had laughed at that comment about the prom, as if she was kidding. She had worked with the Haggerty men for ten years, and they all thought she had a great sense of humor. And she knew they were absolutely on her side. Paul’s dad, Stan, the founder and president of Haggerty Construction, had been determined never to work with Greg again, but his sons had all stood up to him and pointed out that refusing to do business with a successful developer was shortsighted in business. And also some sort of discrimination. “Yeah,” Stan had stormed. “I discriminate against stupid assholes!”
Leslie had adored him for that!
She had been twenty-three when she married Greg Adams. He was a young developer who was becoming successful and well-known, though he was only just thirty. He was in all the fraternal and networking groups from Rotary to the Chamber of Commerce; he’d been president of each at one time or another. He’d had aspirations to run for city council, maybe mayor eventually. He was also incredibly handsome and very sexy, and she had always had a hard time believing he chose her. And even though she’d worked full-time for Haggerty Construction, she’d also joined the Junior League, library volunteers—anything she thought might help Greg’s plans. Of course, Greg had encouraged her to do so.
Then, after eight years of marriage, she’d caught Greg in an affair with a twenty-seven year old attorney. He had been thirty-eight. He’d come clean immediately and confessed he was sorry she had been hurt, but he was moving on. His life had changed in ways he had never anticipated. He’d moved out of their lovely three-bedroom home the day after she’d confronted him, filing for divorce while she was still in shock.
She’d gotten the house and the mortgage, which she couldn’t carry alone. He’d gotten fifty percent of the equity. She’d gotten no alimony because it seemed this successful developer had no money.
“Hah!” Stan Haggerty had roared. “That’s bullshit! He has plenty of money, unless he’s hidden it!”
Apparently he had, because after the divorce and sale of the home and division of the proceeds, he’d managed to buy a very large custom home in a better neighborhood, a new car and take his n
ew lady on a lavish vacation to Aruba. A year after the divorce, he’d had a flashy wedding and invited half the town, including Leslie and her parents. They’d passed, sending regrets. A year and four months after the divorce, the new Mrs. Adams was showing.
Through all of this, Greg had phoned or stopped by regularly; it was very important to him that she know he would always love her and respect her. He wanted them to remember the good years they had together and remain the best of friends. If she hadn’t been so broken down with humiliation, demoralization and envy she might’ve found the strength to gouge his eyes out with a dull spoon.
When he’d broken it to her that Allison was pregnant and that he hoped she would be happy for them, she’d found her bottom. She’d taken all she could take. That’s when she’d gone to Stan and said she was terribly sorry, but she was giving notice.
“Where will you go?” Stan had asked.
“I don’t know,” she had answered. “I just have to get away from here. I know people are on my side, that they think I was wronged, but that doesn’t keep them from looking at me with pity and wondering what role I played in driving my husband away. This is Greg’s town. And admit it, even on my side, they admire Greg for trying so hard to split on good terms. I see Greg and Allison everywhere. He kisses her neck and pats her little belly. I’ll give you a month’s notice, give my apartment manager a month’s notice, and I’ll start looking for a job in another city. Please say you’ll give me a decent recommendation.”
He’d done better than that. He’d asked Paul if he needed someone. “That’ll give you a lot more time to think, to recover, to get on your feet. You might even decide to come back to Grants Pass. And you’ll always have a job with Haggerty Construction. In fact, I don’t know how we’ll make it without you.”
Conner agreed with Jack about the stuffed trout. And while Conner ate, he watched the people in the bar. Jack had a running dialogue with a number of them; they joked around a lot and poked fun at each other like old friends. Jack was obviously all-purpose in his bar—he delivered dinner to a couple of little old ladies, to a family of four, to a couple of guys at the other end of the bar. He picked up empty plates. He served drinks. He leaned over a table and gave a tip on a cribbage move. He helped the same little old ladies out of the bar and down the steps.