Cold River - Carla Neggers [38]
Vivian looked out the window but saw only her reflection. Her hair, which was fine and straight, seemed thin. She was only forty-seven but had started to notice more gray showing through her natural dark blond. She had no intention of dyeing it. Its light color helped, not that she cared. She’d never been one for such vanities.
“I don’t know how people live up here all winter.” She turned back to her tea and book with a scowl. “It’s so dark. It’s depressing.”
Lowell folded the empty paper bag. He was lanky and fair-haired, a year older than she was, but he still had no sign of gray in his hair. “I find the dark, cold nights up here cozy and comforting,” he said. “They make me want to curl up by the fire with a good book.”
“Yes, I suppose there’s that advantage.”
He opened a lower cupboard and placed the paper bag on a stack of other bags he’d saved. She’d have tossed them all on the fire. He loved to play the frugal country farmer, but he’d been a reasonably successful investment banker for fifteen years. Vivian had finally talked him into leaving the working world two years ago, after their younger daughter had graduated college. They could easily live off her trust fund. He had his own money, but it was for his little projects.
He pulled out a chair across the round table from her and sat down heavily, as if he’d been chopping wood all day instead of running to the grocery. Vivian abruptly pushed back her chair but didn’t get up. Having Lowell at the table immediately irritated her. She’d been enjoying her time alone, and now he was crowding her. She flipped the book shut. It was one her book club in New York had assigned, but she couldn’t concentrate on it now.
She tried to suppress her irritation as Lowell spoke. “Bowie O’Rourke is supposed to stop by. He’s obviously running a little late. I imagine he’ll be here any minute. I’m going over the work on the guesthouse with him. It won’t take long. He already has a good idea of what needs to be done. This is just a last-minute check before he starts tomorrow. I wasn’t sure at first about having the guesthouse redone, but I see your point now. Fresh paint will help erase some of the bad memories. We’ll all be happier here.”
“You do know that Bowie is an ex-convict, don’t you, Lowell?”
“He was in a scuffle at his cousin’s bar with several drunken ski bums who, from what I’ve heard, had it coming.”
“He went to jail. He’s on probation.”
“He didn’t really fight the charges against him. If it’d been a Cameron who’d drawn blood, I wonder if there’d even have been an arrest.”
Vivian noticed her tea was cold and decided she didn’t want it any longer. “Hannah Shay was the one the ski bums were insulting when Bowie lost control and started throwing punches. Are you sure hiring him isn’t just a means for you to get closer to her?”
Lowell looked uncomfortable. “You know I have no romantic interest in anyone in Black Falls—or anywhere else, for that matter.”
“Who do you prefer, Hannah or Rose Cameron?” Vivian thought a moment, ignoring her husband’s obvious discomfort. “Hannah, I believe. She’s the safer choice, for certain. Her brothers are just teenagers. Rose’s brothers are all in their thirties and very competent—true New England mountain men.”
Lowell leaned back in his chair and glanced at his own reflection in the window.
“Are you still pestering Rose about dogs?” Vivian asked him.
“We’ve talked, yes.”
“A dog won’t protect us. You just want one because you’d feel more like a country squire with a golden retriever at your side.”
Her husband’s interest in getting a dog and Rose Cameron’s work with search-and-rescue dogs had preceded the violence in Black Falls, anyway, and had nothing to do with protection. Vivian no longer believed she was without enemies. Everyone had enemies. She wanted to install an alarm system and a panic room, but Lowell argued that it would destroy the sense of refuge he felt being in Vermont. She was adamant about not having