Never Tell Them, N.L. Hinkens [unputdownable books txt] 📗

He shrugged off his backpack and tossed it on the floor. Damp and shivering, he sank down in a rocking chair and stretched out his legs to catch his wind. He could afford to hang around for an hour or so. With a bit of luck, Tom would come strolling through the door at any minute. If nothing else, he could rest and dry out a bit before hiking back down to the car. He was tempted to light a fire, but Tom mightn’t take kindly to that level of intrusion, given the hostile terms they’d parted on.

Ray cast a curious glance around the interior of the cabin. He could sit here killing time, or he could do a little digging in Tom’s absence. Intrusive or not, this was the best opportunity he might have to search the cabin and see if there was anything in it linking his brother to Katie Lambert’s disappearance. If Tom was involved, he wasn’t likely to cop to it if Ray confronted him.

Beginning with the rustic loft bed, Ray patted all along the logs and stuck his fingers in every cobwebby chink—going so far as to squeeze the seams of the bedding to make sure nothing had been stitched into it. After retreating down the ladder, he searched inside the storage bench, and rummaged through the pockets of a fur coat and a leather hunting pack hanging on a rack by the door. In the kitchen area, he opened all the tin canisters on the carved shelf above the table to check the contents; coffee, tobacco, flour, and dried beans—nothing untoward. Next, he felt for loose stones in the fireplace, and ran his hand over the mantle, dislodging a small can of Grizzly chewing tobacco in the process. He cracked it open and took a whiff, pulling back in disgust. Tom’s teeth must be yellow and rotten after years of gnawing on this stuff. Ray wrinkled his brow, trying to remember if his brother had any teeth left at all. But he could only picture his gnarled beard and the smoldering anger in his eyes as they’d exchanged blows.

He was about to return to his seat when he heard footsteps approaching the cabin. His chest tightened. He threw a panicked glance around the small space. Too late to hurry back outside and act as if he’d been waiting patiently for Tom’s return. Bracing himself for a confrontation, he took up a nonchalant position next to the fireplace and waited anxiously for the door to open. Minutes ticked by and Ray wet his lips nervously, wondering what Tom was doing. He could hear him shuffling around. Did he realize someone was inside his house?

Ray rubbed his jaw, weighing his options. He needed to make his presence known. If he waited any longer, it would look like he’d been trying to hide. He quieted his breathing and slipped out of the cabin, only to find himself looking into the brooding eyes of an imposing stranger. He took a step backward, momentarily caught off guard. The bushy-bearded, mountain man staring back at him looked vaguely familiar.

“Who … who are you?” Ray stuttered.

The man’s brows shot up. ”You’re having me on, right?”

“I mean, I feel like I should know you—“ Ray broke off and gave an apologetic shrug. “I’m sorry. I … just got out of hospital. I suffered a concussion. It affected my memory.”

The man leaned a hand against the side of the cabin, a curious gleam in his eyes. “You really don’t recognize me?”

“No, I’m sorry. Should I?”

“I’m Buck.” He stepped closer, the hard edge leaving his voice. “You’re Ray Jenkins, Tom’s older brother. I bumped into you a couple of weeks back.”

Ray rubbed his forehead as it suddenly dawned on him who he was talking to. “Of course! You led me to the cabin.”

Buck dipped his head in acknowledgement, eying Ray as if he was waiting on him to say something else.

Ray cleared his throat and gestured sheepishly at the cabin door. ”I don’t suppose you know where Tom is. I need to talk to him, but I only have an hour or two before I have to head back down the mountain.”

Buck smoothed out his bushy mustache, his eyes firmly latched on Ray’s. “We’d best go inside and talk.”

”I … don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Ray said, scratching the back of his head. “Tom mightn’t be too happy to find us making ourselves at home in his cabin.”

“Trust me, Tom won’t say nothing about it one way or the other,” Buck replied.

Trying to mask his reluctance, Ray walked back inside. He took a seat on the storage bench and motioned to Buck to take the rocking chair. Ignoring him, Buck slung his pack onto the floor and walked over to the fireplace. He stared down at the ashes for what seemed like forever before turning to Ray. “What do you remember about your last visit here?”

Ray shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He wasn’t sure how much he wanted to share with Buck about what had gone down, although, it was possible Tom had confided in him—Ray had no idea if the two men were close friends or merely casual acquaintances. At any rate, he had no desire to air his dirty laundry with a stranger if it could be avoided. “Not much, to be honest. Like I said, I’m recovering from a concussion. I had an accident a few days ago—totaled my truck and ended up in the hospital.”

Buck folded his arms in front of his chest, and tucked his fingers into his armpits, giving Ray the impression he was about to be reprimanded.

“Are you telling me you don’t remember the fight?” Buck asked, in a scathing tone.

“Well, I wouldn’t call it a fight, exactly.” Ray pulled his brows together, a flush creeping up his neck. “We did get into a bit of a heated argument. Our mother passed away recently, and we were trying