Stef Ann Holm, Lucy Back [paper ebook reader .TXT] 📗

even the strongest metal in two if one’s nerves were agitated enough. And hers were at the breaking point. “So are you going to stop telling people not to hire me?”

“I have never don’ any such ting.”

She hated to call him an outright liar to his face, so she didn’t. This was getting her nowhere other than giving her a headache.

“We’ll see about all this, Raul. You haven’t heard the last of me.”

“C’hew have me quaking in my chef’s hat,” he called after her as she pushed the cart away, its wobbly wheel rattling.

Lucy had no real destination when she left Sutter’s until she saw the sheriff’s Blazer parked at the High Country Motel’s lounge. On an impulse, she signaled, made a sharp left and angled her Passat next to his.

She got out of the car, slipped her folded sunglasses into the vee of her shirt, then swung one of the double doors open.

The lobby was dingy, but clean; it smelled like detergent and bleach. Chlorine from the indoor pool seeped into the air, and she glanced through the sweating windows to her right to see several people in the pool.

Heading for the lounge, she wasn’t sure what to expect, except to see the sheriff, since his car was parked outside. She hit a double jackpot when she found both Sheriff Lewis and Deputy Cooper sitting at one of the tables with Bud Tremore.

“Hey, Lucy,” Bud said, seeing her before the lawmen did.

“Hi, Bud.”

“I’ve been meaning to get out there and take a look at that porch.”

“It’s fine for now, Bud,” she said, not really needing to go into that at the moment.

Sheriff Lewis tilted his chin at her, his tanned face even darker than she recalled. It amazed her he didn’t have skin cancer lesions on his nose. His red-mustached deputy gave off a more subdued aura, but his gaze traveled over her, too.

“Sheriff, I’d like to file a citizen’s complaint,” she said, quite seriously.

Taking a sip of what looked to be iced tea, and not missing a swallow as he drank around a full glass of ice cubes, he asked, “What about?”

Deputy Cooper thought he’d be a comedian and interjected, “She’s going to put one out on you, Tremore, for all them run-down motor homes on that property she rents from you.”

Bud snorted. “I can park whatever RVs I want as long as I own that land, Clyde. That’s not in the dang covenants where my teardown is.”

“What kind of complaint?” Sheriff Lewis inquired, setting his glass down.

“Raul Nunez is slandering me.” She refused to cower despite the small town sheriff’s raised brows and annoyed expression. “I have been trying to establish myself as a personal chef and he’s done nothing but deter my business opportunities.”

“How’s he doing that?”

“Well, by telling his clients not to hire me.”

“Freedom of speech,” Clyde offered. “I believe we voted that in, back when Betsy Ross was sewing the flag.”

Lucy staved off a groan and a desire to kick the legs right out from under Clyde Cooper’s chair. He tilted backward, fingers knit together over his narrow chest.

“Well, now, Miz Carpenter,” the sheriff said matter-of-factly, “there’s nothing illegal going on here. My hands are tied.”

“Surely there’s a law against someone slandering a name.”

“How’s he been slandering yours? What exactly has he said that’s been detrimental?”

Lucy’s mouth opened, then closed. She took a moment to collect her thoughts. “He hasn’t exactly been saying bad things about me, but he hasn’t told anyone to hire me. He assured me before I moved to town that there was plenty of work and I’d have more clients than I knew what to do with, and now that I’m here, he’s gone out of his way to ensure he’s the only one doing the cooking in Timberline.”

“I fail to see how that’s a crime, Miz Carpenter.” Sheriff Lewis tossed a few Spanish peanuts into his mouth by way of his raised fist.

“But it’s not free enterprise,” she argued.

Clyde Cooper gave her a forced smile. “I think that’s what that Democratic presidential hopeful wanted for our great state of Idaho, and we voted his ass out of Dodge.”

The three men chuckled.

“Isn’t it illegal to be in a bar while you’re on duty?” she retorted, then clamped her lips together.

“Now, now,” the sheriff cautioned. “We’re off duty. There’s no law in Red Duck that says we can’t come into an establishment wearing our uniforms.”

Lucy said nothing further, knowing she’d get no help here. It occurred to her, after the fact, that Red Duck was a town where the justice officials only served those to whom they felt justice was entitled.

With a discouraged stride, she left the lounge through the lobby, giving that overchlorinated pool one last glance.

For a moment, she thought about jumping in and sinking to the very bottom of the deep end, because that’s where her life was headed. Not that she really would, but it sounded dramatic. And right now, she was in dire need of something drastic.

A heavy sigh left her lungs and a thought came to mind.

There was only one option left.

And it was about the most drastic thing she could think to do. In fact, it was her only choice.

Fourteen

Wearing a plush white towel wrapped around his waist, Drew strode barefoot through his seventy-five hundred square foot home.

Late afternoon sunlight slashed through the tall windows.

The main living area on the ground floor was spacious and open to the second story, with heavily timbered ceilings. He used the entry area as an informal gathering place. The fireplace was massive, its stonework reaching to the rafters. A set of six long-paned windows, which he left without blinds, gave a panoramic view of the backyard. He didn’t have fencing around his property. The back was private, screened with white birch, aspens and pines.

He preferred natural stone and earth tones on the outside of the house. The deck had several hunter-green Adirondack chairs angled to view the decorative landscaping boulders, and—in the distance—the creek.

Heading for the