“Yeah?”
I shifted in the water. “The night I was in the woods, I heard something. I heard…screams.”
“Huh.” The shuffling noise resumed. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. That’s why I came onto the Blackwood property.” A white lie never hurt anyone. “I was looking for the source of the screams.”
“You find anything?”
“No.” I rested my chin on the edge of the tub and stared at the empty doorway. “Just the boars. Or I guess they found me.”
“It could have been an animal. They say panthers and such have screams that sound human. Other animals, too, maybe bobcats. No one else lives out here, you know? And I haven’t had any reports of missing persons. But I’ll take a look, all the same.”
I knew with unflinching certainty it wasn’t an animal. Maybe it was a good thing Sheriff Crow didn’t seem overly concerned. What were the chances something violent would happen in the same woods so close to where my father died? If they were related in any way, I wanted to be the one to discover the link.
“Thanks. I appreciate it. And please make sure I get my phone.”
“Sure thing. I’ll talk to Garrett on my way out. I gotta get going, but you keep resting up.”
“I will. See you later.”
“Yes, ma’am.” His footsteps receded.
If no one was missing, where did the mystery scream come from? I watched the steady drip of the faucet, trying to hypnotize myself into discovering the answer. The water eventually cooled, and I still hadn’t figured it out. But I would, one way or another.
“WHY ARE YOUR NAILS BLACK SOMETIMES?” I took a bite of the most disgusting chicken salad sandwich I’d ever tasted.
“Sheriff Crow comes to visit and all of a sudden you’re chatty?” Garrett leaned against my doorframe and watched as I struggled to eat the “mayo with a side of chicken” sandwich.
“I’ve always been chatty. Now it shows because the drugs have worn off and I’m not in agonizing pain.” I put the sandwich down and focused on the potato chips instead. “You’re the non-chatty one.”
He tossed my phone onto the bed. “Maybe that’s for a reason, Red.”
“What reason?” I picked it up and swiped across the screen. No service. Shit.
“I told you when you got here that I wanted you out.” He sighed. “That hasn’t changed.”
I dropped the phone with a grimace and picked at my sandwich. “Okay. And I told you that I can’t wait to leave, so we’re on the same page. Why would those facts keep you from telling me why your fingernails are covered in filth sometimes?”
“It’s not filth.” He shook his head. “While you’re lying around eating my delicious food all day without lifting a finger, I’m working.”
“On what?” In all the research I’d done, I never found Garrett to have any real source of income other than timber and oil royalties on the Blackwood property.
“Why do you care?” He crossed his arms over his chest, the rolled up sleeves of his shirt revealing some dark ink snaking across his skin.
“Why won’t you tell me?”
“Why does it matter?”
I crunched the salty chips. “It wouldn’t matter if you weren’t so stubborn about not wanting to tell me. Now I have to know.”
“You’re calling me stubborn?” He arched a dark eyebrow.
“I see your hearing is working fine.” I plucked out another chip.
His lip twitched, a smile trying to form but failing. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know you can’t cook for shit.” I ticked off my fingers as I went. “You avoid me if possible. You have a secret pastime that turns your nails black. You are secretly kind. And you desperately need a haircut.”
“That’s all?”
“And a shave.” I drew my legs up under the blankets, happy to be able to move them without searing pain.
“Want to know what I know about you?” He walked in and sat on the spot my feet had just vacated.
“Sure.”
“You forged my signature on permission documents. You trespassed on my land. You almost got killed by wild boars.” His smirk began to surface. “You are eternally grateful to me for saving your life. And you have some major daddy issues.”
I stopped mid-chew. “What?”
“That’s right.” He snagged a chip from my plate and ate it. “You talk in your sleep. Most of the time it’s nonsense, but every so often you say ‘dad’.”
“You watched me sleep?”
He glanced away. “Sometimes when you were on the pills, you’d be sleeping when I came in with food.”
I didn’t buy his excuse, but I was more worried that I said something to give myself away. “So what kind of daddy issues do you suspect?” I tried to keep my tone playful.
“I’m not sure, but there’s something about the way you say his name.” He pinned me with an inscrutable look. “It seems like you’re sad. Like…”
My appetite dried up. “What? Like what?”
“It’s like you’re lost and you’re desperately trying to find him. Like if you could only get to him, everything would be okay.” He shrugged. “It makes me hope you find him. That’s why I never wake you up.”
I studied the strong line of his jaw, the messy locks of hair, and looked deeper. The man underneath wasn’t so easily discerned. For the first time since I’d shown up on his doorstep, I finally saw Garrett Blackwood.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“WHAT’S GOING ON?” I leaned against the doorframe and tried not to sound as exhausted as I felt.
Garrett didn’t turn around. “If you were trying to surprise me, maybe you shouldn’t have come down the stairs sounding like a wounded elephant.”
I stared at the library. Books lined the walls and only stopped for a window or a door. The turret along the front of the house spiraled up in the corner and let in plenty of light despite the encroaching trees.
“I’m proud of myself enough for the both of us.” My left leg had healed to the point it could bear my weight without too much pain. The bone was fine, but the skin itched and stretched where the stitches ran along my calf. I only hoped th
e scars wouldn’t be too noticeable.
“Color me completely unsurprised.” He sat at a wide work desk and looked through a lighted magnifying glass.
I hobbled into the room and rested on the arm of a threadbare sofa. This part of the house seemed fresher, more well-used than my dusty guest room. “What are you doing?”
He took a deep breath and leaned back. “I was working.”
“On what?” I took a few more steps until I stood behind him.
He waved his hands at the desk. An antique book lay open in front of him. The page on the left had crisp black ink on parchment. The right hand side was faded, the letters almost indistinguishable. Small pots of ink dotted the desk, and a wide selection of quills and fountain pens sat in a coffee cup to the side. A couple of books, their bindings frayed and worn, were stacked on the edge, as if waiting for their turn under the magnifying glass.
“This is why your fingers are black.” Ink.
“Give the lady a prize.” He glanced up at me. “What did you suspect?”
“I had two theories, really.”
“Yeah?”
“Mechanic or casual murderer who likes to dig the graves by hand.”
He laughed and shook his head, his shaggy hair giving off a clean shampoo scent. “Both excellent guesses.”
Something about his laughter sent my heart into a quicker rhythm. “So, you restore books?”
He nodded. “Collectors send me their treasures, and I get them back into good shape.”
“Seems really, um, tedious.” I scooted around him and sat on the edge of the desk. My leg needed a break.
“It is, but I enjoy it.” He leaned back and stared up at me, his face reverting to the usual look of serious disdain.
“You must have a lot of patience.”
He smirked and gave me a pointed look. “So it would seem.”
“I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”
His gaze traveled down my body, and I wondered for the hundredth time what he was thinking. I wore a college t-shirt and shorts. Nothing fancy, but the way he looked at me made me feel as if I were wearing nothing more than skimpy lingerie.