Cold River - Carla Neggers [69]
At least this morning. By this afternoon, she could easily change her mind and call a real estate agent.
She hated her conflicting emotions. All these strong emotions, period. She preferred a more sedate, predictable life.
A groomed trail would have been helpful, but she’d enjoyed breaking through the fresh snow. She’d dressed appropriately for the conditions, but the cold was worse than she’d anticipated, freezing her face, chapping her lips. She refused to give in to her discomfort.
She skied over to Lowell, who stood next to a weeping willow in front of an old stone wall. He’d tramped down the road in his boots and then through the snow to the pond.
“Hannah was here,” she said. “Did you see her?”
“Not to speak to, no.”
“I’m sure that’s a huge disappointment.”
“Vivian, please. Hannah’s an intriguing, lovely woman, but she’s not—”
“You’ve had an eye for her ever since we started to come up here. She’s not as pretty as Dominique, though, is she? And Beth with her copper hair and those deep turquoise eyes of hers. Hannah seems rather mousy in comparison.”
He reached down and dug snow out of the top edge of his boot. He had on a leather jacket that was perpetually either too warm or not warm enough for the conditions, never quite right. Typical.
“Are you going to speak?” she asked sharply.
“Hannah is hardworking and intelligent. She’s proved herself to everyone in Black Falls. We should applaud her success.”
Vivian scoffed at him. “What success? She and two friends own a small Vermont café, and she’s been in law school forever. She’s finally finished, but she hasn’t taken the bar exam yet. She’s not working as an attorney.”
“Judge Robinson thinks very highly of her.” Lowell rose, teetering slightly. He’d have been better off on skis or snowshoes than in boots. “Vivian, I don’t have my eye on Hannah or anyone else in Black Falls—or anywhere else for that matter. You do believe me, don’t you?”
Vivian felt a little aghast, and annoyed, at his crushed look. “Of course. I didn’t mean…” She suddenly realized she didn’t know what she’d meant. “Sean was with her just now. I think there’s something between the two of them. I really do.”
“I’d trust your instincts.” He raised a gloved hand and pointed at the guesthouse. “Have you talked to Bowie yet this morning?”
“No, I haven’t. I think he’s a complication for Hannah and Sean. It’ll be interesting to see what happens when Sean returns to California. I just don’t want us to get caught in the middle.”
“I stopped in to see Bowie just now,” Lowell said. “I only stayed a minute. His injuries don’t seem to bother him or to be impeding his work.”
“It’s a hazardous occupation, being a stonemason.” Vivian repositioned her ski poles in the snow. “I wish he didn’t live just up the road. It’s unnerving. We’re here alone at night. He could just—” She stopped herself, then said, “Anything could happen. I hadn’t realized he’d moved back. Did you know?”
“I noticed smoke coming out of his chimney when I took a walk out past his place before Christmas. I assumed he’d moved back but didn’t think anything of it.”
“I wish you’d told me. If he’s got a temper, we don’t want to provoke him.”
She looked back toward the guesthouse and felt a dryness in her throat, a sense of dread she’d never felt before, even when Kyle Rigby and Melanie Kendall were guests there. But she hadn’t known they were killers. Bowie O’Rourke? What was he?
“Everything will be all right, Vivian,” Lowell said quietly.
Even his reassurances irritated her. She glared at him. “Just don’t start in on me again about getting a dog. I don’t want to hear it.”
She skied back over to the guesthouse, staying in the snow to the side of the walk as Bowie came out onto the porch. He looked terrible. In addition to his bruises and cuts, his heavily bandaged hand, she noticed his