A Need to Protect Read online

  With the bag holding his burger and fries in his hand, he exited the garage and made his way to the back of his cabin. He’d have to nuke his dinner to warm it but then he’d get himself a cold beer and catch a little ESPN, see how the Giants were doing. He pushed back on an odd feeling of discontent. That kind of evening had always been just fine with him in the past. Something about tonight made him feel restless. Like something was missing. Ignoring those thoughts he opened his back door and walked into the empty house.

  Chapter Two

  Emma slowed her Toyota where the highway curved into Hangman’s Loss. Despite the unfamiliar surroundings and the cold temperature, she had slept dreamlessly and woken ravenous. She’d eaten her last PB&J late the night before; this morning the idea of splurging on a hot breakfast had been too tempting to ignore.

  She glanced to her left where the lake glinted silver, choppy waves forming in the stiff breeze. The highway that ran past her cabins became Main Street once it hit town. Hangman’s Loss looked bright and shiny in the early morning sunlight. Most of the businesses bore a Western motif, and flower boxes along the boardwalk provided splashy color. Pine trees dotted the landscape and the sky was a deeper blue than she had ever seen in Los Angeles.

  The town had a slow, lazy feel though Emma knew business would be hopping during the two peak seasons. Summer drew water and mountain enthusiasts, while winter snows brought skiers to the slopes on the far side of the lake. Now in mid-spring she figured most of the people walking along the wooden boardwalks were locals.

  Passing an older, two-story building, Emma saw what looked to be a likely place for breakfast. The wooden sign over the door identified it as Hangman’s Best Café and Bakery, while an A-frame on the boardwalk displayed a steaming cappuccino and advertised the special of the day, the Western Bagel with egg, bacon, and cheese. Her decision made, Emma pulled onto a side street to park.

  When she opened the café door, the smell of coffee and something baking with cinnamon made her mouth water. Joining the line at the counter, she noted a poster tacked to a bulletin board that announced the Hangman’s Loss Founders’ Day Picnic to be held at a park by the lake. Framed paintings, one with a card noting the artist’s gallery on Main Street, showed how the town must look in winter with snow on the ground and store windows warmly lit and welcoming. She hoped she would still be here when the snows came again.

  A wide display case filled with muffins, scones, and pies stood beside the cash register. The smiling blonde taking orders at the counter had a white apron tied around her waist and looked to be about Emma’s age. She chatted with a lady whose silver-gray hair was restrained in a dignified bun while she expertly boxed muffins.

  The door behind Emma opened and closed, its bell announcing another customer while she listened to their conversation.

  “Mrs. Donahue, are these muffins for you or are you going to share a few with your beau?”

  She liked that the woman behind the counter knew Mrs. Donahue and could tease her about a beau. It didn’t matter how many times Emma had shopped at the market near her LA apartment, the clerk always looked at her with the same blank lack of recognition.

  “Maybe they are for my beau,” the old woman said slyly as she turned with her box. Looking past Emma’s shoulder, she added, “And here he is.”

  Emma glanced back and felt her stomach dip. His eyes were green, a deep, dark green that locked on hers for a long moment before shifting to the elderly woman.

  “Has that hillside stayed in place, Mrs. Donahue?”

  Emma tried to edge to the side and wished she could disappear. That morning she’d decided she could avoid the chief completely if she didn’t attract any attention to herself. She’d planned to drop off his lantern at the police station when his vehicle wasn’t in the parking lot. She didn’t want there to be any reason for him to stop by the cabins.

  Mrs. Donahue glanced curiously at Emma, then back at the man who’d come to stand beside her. “Yes, Bradley, and I’m going to see Bert Morales about the retaining wall, just like you said. I hope he’ll be able to build it quickly before it rains again.” She held out a hand shaky with age, offering the box. “These blueberry muffins Madison baked just this morning are for you. I don’t know that digging out a mudslide is in the police chief’s job description, but I want you to know I appreciate it. Share them with that boy, Warren. It’s a wonder he’s old enough to shave, much less be a police officer, but he was good help yesterday with a shovel.”

  The chief grinned, and Emma felt an uncomfortable jolt. Who knew he had a killer smile?

  “Yes, ma’am. Thank you. We’ll enjoy these.”

  Mrs. Donahue nodded, then walked with careful steps to the door. He moved back and opened it to her dignified thank-you. Emma heard the squawk of his radio and, to her relief, he stepped outside to answer it.

  She turned back to find the woman, Madison the lady had called her, eyeing her with curiosity. “Welcome. What can I get for you?”

  She stepped forward. “I’ll have the Western Bagel with a bowl of the fresh fruit and a large coffee, please.”

  “You must be new in town.”

  She shifted uncomfortably, then pulled out her wallet. She silently scolded herself. If she wanted to belong to this small town, if she wanted people to know her name, she had to get over her natural reserve and get used to being asked, and answering, questions. “I’m Emma Kincaid.” She paused, then added, “I inherited the Hangman’s Cabin and Lake Resort.”

  At Madison’s surprised look, Emma spoke evenly. “It was my grandfather’s.” She wondered if others would think what the chief apparently did—that she was only here for her inheritance and she hadn’t cared about her grandfather.

  “Well, that’s something.” Madison’s smile had dimmed somewhat. “I’m Maddy. We always wondered what happened to Walt’s family. He could be real closemouthed about himself.” Her look was assessing. “Are you planning to open the cabins for the summer season?”

  “I hope to. I haven’t had a chance to look around yet, though.” She was going to leave it there. Just keep it short like she always did, not be too forthcoming. But the pretty woman’s expectant expression had her adding, “I got in late yesterday and haven’t checked out the condition of the cabins. I need to get the propane system inspected and the electricity on, and then I’ll figure out more definitively when I can open.”

  Maddy handed Emma her change. “Well, if I see Bert Morales I’ll ask him to check out the propane tank for you. He’ll be straight with you. As for the electricity, you can try calling but if it’s not on now, you aren’t likely to get any help until Monday.” Maddy looked at her thoughtfully. “Do you have a camp lantern or a flashlight or something?”

  Emma nodded. “I have a flashlight. I’ll be fine.” No point mentioning the light the chief had left since she planned to return it after breakfast.

  Maddy waved away Emma’s comment. “It gets awful dark out there.” She nodded toward the man outside the door. “Brad will have a lantern you can borrow at the police station. Either that, or I bet your grandfather had one for emergencies.”

  Emma shifted uncomfortably. “Actually, Chief Gallagher came by yesterday evening just after I got in. I think he wanted to make sure I wasn’t breaking in. He loaned me a lantern.”

  Maddy nodded, blue eyes warm. “I’m not surprised. Not much in this town gets by Brad. He’ll want to make sure you can get on out there, that you don’t have any trouble.”

  “I don’t need him checking on me. I’ll be fine,” she repeated.

  From a window to the kitchen, the cook passed through her breakfast sandwich with strawberries and melon in a small bowl. Maddy handed the tray to Emma.

  “I’m sure you will be. Go ahead and get your coffee over at that counter. Enjoy your first breakfast at Hangman’s Loss.”

  She stood at the counter to add sugar and milk to her coffee. Emma could see through the glass door the cop had finished with the radio and w
as now talking with an older man who wore bright yellow suspenders over a worn denim shirt.

  Emma took her breakfast into the dining area just as the chief opened the door. She slid into a booth with a view of Main Street and hoped fervently he would make his a to-go order.

  Surreptitiously, she watched him walk to the order counter to reach across and grab a coffee mug. He kissed Maddy briefly on the cheek and said, “I’ll settle up with you at lunch, darlin’. See you.”

  He stopped to add sugar to his coffee and Emma glanced quickly out the window to avoid his gaze. A kiss and an endearment. It looked like the hunky police chief had a girlfriend. Good for him. She didn’t need him making her heart go all funny. If being a cop wasn’t enough, add a girlfriend, and he most certainly fell into the no-touch, off-limits zone.

  Emma bit into her bagel sandwich, her first hot meal in days. Chewing thoughtfully, she observed the people around her. A group of elderly men sat together over coffee in a corner booth, newspapers spread before them. They looked like a regular coffee klatch. At another table a young couple with a towheaded toddler looked to be enjoying a morning out. What usually didn’t trouble her, that she was an observer of relationships rather than a participant, bothered her today. By necessity and circumstance she’d always dealt with her problems on her own, but sometimes she sure did wish she was a part of something, a family or community that would be there for her and have her back.

  Emma stiffened when the chief slid into the booth across the table from her, setting down the box of muffins. She tried to hide her instant frisson of awareness and reached for her coffee. She took a hasty gulp and nearly scalded her tongue.

  He raised a quizzical eyebrow. “You sure are jumpy. Law enforcement make you nervous?” The lazy grin he’d given Mrs. Donahue was absent. “You hiding something, Emmaline?”

  “It’s Emma, Chief Gallagher.” She eyed him levelly. “And no, I’ve got nothing to hide. I guess it’s your job to be suspicious.”

  “Maybe. Call me Brad.” He gave her a long look.

  Despite him being a cop, despite not wanting to notice anything about him, Emma took in details she’d missed the previous night. His hair was a deep, rich brown and on the longish side, brushing over his collar. The sunlight streaming through the window set off mahogany highlights. He seemed to reject a uniform, and instead wore a navy-blue chambray shirt with sleeves rolled to the elbows. A white T-shirt showed against the tanned skin of his throat. Way too appealing and, she knew, completely untouchable. She took a bite of melon and hoped he didn’t suspect where her mind had wandered.

  “I’d like to know why you weren’t here when your grandfather was dying.”

  Carefully, she set down her fork. Her instinctive response was to tell him to mind his own business. But her grandfather had been a member of the Hangman’s Loss community and maybe she owed it to him to explain her absence to a man who had obviously been his friend. She took a steadying breath. “I don’t want to go into all the details but the primary reason was that my mom and my grandfather were sick at the same time. They died within days of each other.”

  She paused to steady her voice as memories of that horrible week flashed back. “I’d been calling Grandpa daily but he didn’t tell me how bad it was until the very end. He wanted me to stay with my mom so that’s what I did.” Emma felt exposed under Brad’s scrutiny.

  He held her gaze, then nodded. “That must have been a difficult choice.”

  “It was.” She thought about the townsfolk and voiced her concern. “I guess people here will think I didn’t care about my grandfather, that I just showed up for the inheritance.”

  “Maybe at first, but you can explain otherwise. If you don’t sell out to the highest bidder, they’ll see the place means something to you.”

  He acknowledged a wave from across the room before leaning back in his seat, forearms resting on the edge of the table. He picked up his coffee and took a sip, all the while keeping that dark gaze fixed on her. “You should know there has been some interest in Walt’s place over the past few months.”

  Emma eyed the long fingers wrapped around his coffee mug. She liked strong hands, hands that showed the character of the person. His looked plenty strong. There was a short scar on the back of his left hand and no wedding ring. She wondered if he and the seriously cute Maddy were engaged. She brought her gaze back to his face and forced herself to replay in her head what he’d just said. “What did you mean there’s been interest in the cabins?”

  He took a muffin out of the box and broke off a piece before answering. “A break-in a month or so ago. Could have been kids, but I don’t think so.”

  Emma frowned. “Why not?”

  “Just call it a gut feeling. That, and there was a guy a few weeks back who was asking about the place. He wanted to know who owned it and whether it was for sale.” He took a bite of muffin. “There have been developers interested in making the Loss over into a more upscale resort town. That guy may have been one of their people.”

  “Okay.” Emma had hoped to get away from the crime so ubiquitous in Los Angeles, the constant need to be on guard against danger. She’d thought maybe, just maybe, she had left that behind by coming to Hangman’s Loss. “I guess break-ins happen everywhere. Do you know if anything was taken?”

  Brad shrugged wide shoulders. “It looked more like they were after something in particular. Papers were tossed around the front office, files gone through. I don’t know if they found whatever it was. I had the broken lock replaced.”

  He paused, then held out a hand. “Let me see your cell phone.”

  Emma stared at the calloused palm. “Why?”

  “I’m going to program in the nonemergency number to the police station and my personal cell phone number.” He cocked an eyebrow. “I’ll bet you didn’t put it in when I gave you my card last night, did you?”

  “I can take care of myself.” Emma shifted uncomfortably. She guessed she should be grateful for his help but she just didn’t want it. He was a cop.

  “No doubt. But you’re isolated out there, and it’s my job to keep you safe. This is one of the few mountain communities that actually has pretty good cell coverage. For emergencies call 9-1-1 but if you think something just doesn’t feel right, I want you to call me.”

  Emma sat still for several moments, considering, then decided that having the numbers didn’t mean she had to use them. She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out her phone.

  She couldn’t help the spark of amusement as she watched the chief poke at her cell with a long forefinger that looked too big for the tiny keys. After a moment, he reached to his belt and produced a larger phone that looked bulletproof. He flipped it open, glanced at her phone, then followed the same routine.

  “Hey! You’re putting my number into your phone.”

  The lightning grin made her heart flip. “We’re neighbors. This way I can call you if I get scared in the night.”

  She scowled at him. “Very funny.”

  His face lost all traces of humor when he handed back her phone. “Actually, it’s not. I want you safe. I’m responsible for everyone in this valley and that includes you.”

  He finished his coffee and picked up his box of muffins before rising to stand next to the table.

  “You’re not responsible for me, and I can take care of myself.” She hated sounding like a petulant child, but it was important to her that she be self-reliant. Depending on someone invariably led to disappointment. What he’d said struck her and she tilted her head back to look up at him. “What do you mean we’re neighbors?”

  His radio hissed out static before a female voice said, “This is base to Hangman One, come in, Chief.”

  “I gotta go. Later, Emmaline.”

  ***

  Hunger satisfied, Emma drove back to the cabins, mulling over her conversation with Chief Gallagher. Could he truly be what he seemed? She’d never met anyone who exuded honesty and integrity like that man. While sh
e knew some cops were mostly good, her own experience proved it was dangerous to trust blindly. Given the right motivation, any cop could be corrupted. She’d just have to wait and see with this one.

  Deciding she had more important things to worry about than Bradley Gallagher, Emma tried to focus her thoughts. She’d have to prioritize what needed to be done. Jump-starting her business before she ran out of money was near the top of the list. Today she would inspect the buildings, decide if any repairs were needed, and maybe get an idea of how long before she could open to paying customers. Obviously hot water and electricity were the first concerns.

  She drove up the dirt driveway and stopped in front of the rental office. When she got out of her, car she paused to take in her world. A breeze played through the tops of the trees causing aspen leaves to rustle lightly. The lake reflected the blue, cloudless sky and on the far side she could make out a fisherman as he arced his rod over his head to cast his line. Farther west, mountain slopes rose, at first gently and crisscrossed by the cleared paths of ski runs, until their snow-covered peaks jutted steeply into the sky.

  She would make the resort work. She had to because she would never give this up and return to live in the city. Beyond that, she wanted to know who her grandfather had been. What could have driven such a wedge between father and daughter that even when times were at their worst, when Emma had been in foster care and her mother had been in court-ordered rehab, Trudy Kincaid had not reached out to her father. One summer when she was eight, Emma had looked in her mother’s address book and found a phone number with her grandfather’s name. Because of a tenacious caseworker, she’d had that precious summer with her grandfather instead of living in a foster home.