“Because you’re right.” Her lashes lift and her dark eyes fix to mine. “We don’t know who is involved in this. And until I speak to my father, you’re the only person I can trust.”
Chapter Thirteen
LAUREN
Mirror Lake is a charming, small mountain village with picturesque little buildings covered in a fresh layer of snow. Old-fashioned streetlights glow in the wintery air, while smoke curls from shingled rooftops. I’m taken back by its beauty. It looks like something out of a snow globe.
Axel parks the Jeep outside the post office.
“While you call your father, I’ll check my mail.” He hands me a fifty-dollar bill and some coins. “You might want to buy yourself something warmer to wear until I can get you back to your father.”
I look at the crumpled money.
“This is too much. Besides, I don’t need anything. I’ll be back at the lodge soon…” My words die between us. In a matter of hours, this will all be over and I will be back in my old life.
With Vince.
And I will never see Axel again.
I frown. Because I don’t know how I feel about that anymore.
I don’t know how I feel about anything anymore.
“Take it,” he says, his jaw flexing, his face unreadable. “The phone booth is just over there.” He nods toward the end of the row of storefronts. He looks at me, his warm eyes suddenly filling with second thoughts. He’s wondering what I’m going to tell my father.
Before he can say anything, I slide a hand over his. “I’ll make sure he knows you did this to protect me from a security breach.”
He smiles and it’s gentle and delicious, and I have to push down that part of me that wants to feel his kiss on my lips. Because today is my wedding day. And there is a good chance I’ll be Mrs. Vince Preston by sunset. Vince won’t see the sense in canceling the event. Kidnapping or not.
“Tell him I can deliver you in person back to the lodge. But I need to talk to him. His security is incredibly flawed, Lauren. Someone tried to kidnap you and they’ll try again. Your father needs to know how to improve your safety.”
“You can help him with that?”
“I will help him.” His eyes find mine. “If it means you’ll be safe.”
The gentleness in his voice makes me want to forget about making any phone calls today. Especially one to Vince. In my mind, I see Axel working for my father, consulting him on security, and a spark of hope ignites in my chest. Because I don’t want to say goodbye and him working for my father means I won’t have to.
“Thank you,” I say softly, and our gazes linger a moment longer before I climb out of the Jeep.
The phone booth is outside of a quaint little bakery with Thanksgiving decorations in the window, and a mouth-watering aroma of pumpkin pie, cinnamon, and sugar drifting out through an open door.
Inside the phone booth, I try to call my father, but there is no dial tone. Impatiently, I tap the hook switch, but nothing happens. The line is dead.
“Lines are down,” says a voice behind me. It’s a woman, possibly in her forties or fifties, carrying a massive tray of pumpkin pies toward a van parked next to the phone booth. She is struggling so I rush to help her, and together we get the tray into the van without losing one single pie.
“Thank you,” she huffs.
“No problem.”
She thrusts out a hand. “Name’s Nan.” She points to the bakery which is aptly named Nan’s Pie Shop.
I’m about to tell her my name is Lauren but stop myself.
“Kate,” I say, shaking her hand. Kate was my mother’s name.
“Nice to meet you, Kate. Thank you for your help.”
“No problem.” I glance over to the phone booth. “Any idea when the phone lines will be working?”
“Technician was here earlier. Said last night’s storm knocked out the mountain’s exchange. They’re working on it now. Said things should be back to normal by nightfall.”
“Nightfall!”
“Not that it’ll do you any good. Another storm is coming.” She nods to the dark clouds boiling in the sky. “Looks like it’s almost here too. You might have to come back tomorrow and pray this one doesn’t take out the exchange again if they can even get it fixed before the storm rolls in.”
“Does it storm like this often?”
“Every fall and every winter. Last year we did Thanksgiving without power for two days thanks to a terrible snowstorm. That one kept us inside for three days. You need to get a hold of someone in a hurry, honey? Is everything okay?”
No. I’ve been kidnapped and need to call my father. Where is the sheriff’s office?
Is what I should say.
But I don’t.
Instead, I lie.
Only, it’s not a lie.
“Yes, everything is fine.” I’m suddenly flooded with warmth when I realize I’m going to have to spend the rest of the day—possibly another night—with Axel. And in that moment, standing on the snowy curb talking to the pie lady with a kind face, I suddenly realize that I’m happy. For the first time in … hell, for the first time in a long time. “Say, where can a girl get a new pair of pants and a jacket ’round here? We packed light, and what I did pack got wet.”
“Oh, you’ll want The Emporium. Speak to Hazel. She’ll sort you out.” While she gave me directions, she slid a pie into a paper bag. “Here, take this with you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. You can let me know how delicious it was when I see you next.”
“We’ll be leaving tomorrow, hopefully. So, if I don’t get the chance to tell you later, I’m sure it was delicious.”
Her smile is warm.
“Oh, don’t worry about that, honey.” Her eyes glimmer with knowing. “Something tells me I’ll be seeing a lot more of you.
Chapter Fourteen
AXEL
While Lauren goes to call her father, and probably Vince, I head inside the post office, which also doubles as the sheriff’s office.
Inside, Sheriff Willard is tied up with Harold Urlich, the town’s grumpiest old man. He makes tinctures and balms in his old bootlegger’s shack a mile out of town. I’ve seen him a few times when I’ve visited Salem’s Bar on the odd occasion I’ve felt the need to break my isolation and have some human contact. He’s always as mad as a cut snake. He likes his beer and he likes to complain. But beneath the cranky layers, he isn’t such a bad old dude. We’ve had a few conversations over a beer in the past few years, and I’ve got a soft spot for the cantankerous old man. He’s a war vet who caught two bullets in his body while serving his country.
Today he is complaining about Mavis Lipman, his neighbor, and her passionfruit vine. Apparently, it’s encroaching on his property by several inches. I cross the room to my post office box and pull out my mail, smiling to myself as I listen to him complain to the sheriff. He and Mavis are constantly at war with each other. If he’s not complaining about her dogs barking, or the smoke from her smokehouse filtering into his kitchen window, she’s complaining about the noise of his diesel generator, or how he tends to his tomato plants in nothing but a pair of boots and his underwear.