Pepper, the Highlander & the Dead Guy

“I need to know where you found the bag,” my dad said. “And I need you to stop causing me such worry.”

“You had to know with Mo gone that I’d gone for a walk in the woods,” I said, wishing he won’t worry so about me, though understanding why. In his job, he saw and heard things most folks didn’t, and he didn’t want any of those horrendous things to happen to his daughter.

“That’s what I told Ian, but he made mention of a man stopping by here earlier that he didn’t trust, and I wasn’t about to take a chance.” He raised his hand and jabbed a finger my way. “You keep that phone on you at all times or so help me…”

My eyes went wide just as they had done when I was young, and my dad issued that warning. After all these years it still had the same effect on me.

“Now take me to where you found the bag,” my dad ordered, then looked back to Josh busy storing the evidence in the patrol car. “Josh, you come with us. Call it in and tell a team to be ready to head out here ASAP as soon as you confirm the location.” He turned to Ian. “You can wait here and thanks for being concerned about my daughter. At least now I’m not in it alone.”

Did my dad just acknowledge that Ian and I were a couple?

I had no time to let that thought sink in, since I got a lecture the whole way to where I found the knife and was accused once again of being the reason his hair had turned completely white.

My answer when he was done. “I love you too, Dad.”

My dad took a cursory look at the hole Mo had left behind, ordered Josh to phone in the location, then walk me home and wait for the evidence team at the edge of the woods.

We hadn’t gone far when I stopped my brother before he could open his mouth. “Dad gave me a lecture. I don’t need one from you. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Except have your cell on you, which could have avoided all this,” he admonished. “That boyfriend of yours sure is scoring points with Dad.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I said, shaking my head.

“Yeah, right,” Josh said with a bit of annoyance. “That’s not what everyone at Treetops is saying.”

I groaned. Why, oh why, did I want to come back and live in a small town?

“I don’t want to hear it,” I warned him.

“Then don’t let him kiss you like that in public,” he snapped.

“That’s none of your business.”

“Oh, it’s not mine, but everyone else can see it and gossip about it? I don’t like my sister’s name being gossiped around town.”

“But it’s all right if your name is spread around about the women you kiss,” I argued.

“That’s different. I’m a man.”

“No, you’re a Neanderthal,” I said and sprinted ahead of him.

“And proud of it,” he yelled and didn’t follow since I wasn’t far from my house.

I couldn’t wait for him to meet a woman that would force him out of the Dark Ages. I entered the house and slammed the door shut behind me.

“Again, I’m sorry,” Ian said, standing there looking apologetic.

I shook my head. “It wasn’t your fault. I should have made sure I had my phone with me. I hadn’t planned on being gone long. Something to drink? I could use a glass of wine.”

“I’ll get it for us,” he said.

I parked myself at the island and watched as Ian got the wine out of the fridge and the wine glasses from the cabinet. He’d been here enough times to know where things were and was comfortable enough in doing so. Maybe he was my boyfriend after all.

“You said you tried to reach me. Was it something important?” I asked as he poured a glass of Sauvignon Blanc.

“I was concerned for you. When Martin Sands finally showed up at my place, he started talking about what a gold mine I had here and how he could help to get you to sell your place to me, so I had all the land in the area. I didn’t want him bothering you.”

“How does he think he has anything to do with that when he’s not your agent anymore?”

“He’s under the impression that since he was contacted for that modeling job I’ve been offered that he has the right to represent me.”

“That reminds me,” I said and hopped off the stool, ran outside, and returned waving my phone. “Would you be interested in Willard Hughes of the Rubin Agency Inc. representing you?”

“Are you kidding?” he asked, shock registering on his handsome face. “That man is a legend, and he picks who he represents.”

“Rubin Literary Agency is the reason I left my phone in the truck. Sylvia Rubin called me while—”