Deep Freeze (West Coast 1)

“We’re fine,” she said and felt the muscles in the back of her neck tighten. She didn’t need him to be acting the part of her father. “I close the gate when it’s working. No one seems to be able to fix the lock.”

“Maybe I could find someone.”

“No!” she said, then heard the tension in her voice. “Look, I’ll take care of it.”

“Okay.” He nodded, which surprised her. She half-expected him to argue. “I hope so, Jenna,” he said, then added, “Go on inside and warm up—you’re not even wearing a coat.”

She’d forgotten to put her jacket on in her panic over her children.

As if he knew, he smiled kindly—or was he patronizing her? Treating her like a china doll? “We’ll handle things from here.”

“I could help.”

“We’ll be fine,” he insisted, and she realized she was in no position to argue. The man was helping her, for crying out loud, and she was worried about his attitude. What was it they said about looking a gift horse in the mouth?

“Then I’ll make us all some coffee,” she said, telling herself she was being sensible and gracious, not a weak, man-dependent woman, like the housewives portrayed in black-and-white sitcoms from the fifties. June Cleaver she was not! “It’s the least I can do.” She nearly choked on the words.

“That would be great.” Harrison’s grin broadened as he headed toward the back of the truck where Whitaker was already pulling out a large toolbox.

Jenna suddenly felt the cold through her sweater and headed toward the house. Once inside, she discovered Allie’s jacket and hat thrown over the back of one of the bar stools, the snow that had clung to the material beginning to melt and drip, a small puddle forming on the floor.

“Ron called,” Cassie said as she came down the stairs. She’d changed into tight jeans and a sweater. “He said he couldn’t make it because of the storm.”

Jenna was wiping the water from the floor with a dishrag. “I’d forgotten about him,” she said, disbelieving. Ron Falletti was Jenna’s personal trainer. Recently he’d been working with Cassie as well. She tossed the rag through the open door to the laundry room.

“You?” Cassie asked in mock horror, her hand flying over her heart. “Forget a workout? I didn’t think that was possible!”

“I’ve had a lot on my mind the last couple of days.” Jenna ground her favorite Italian blend of coffee beans, then tossed the pulverized coffee into the basket of the coffeemaker and added bottled water she’d picked up at the store. But Cassie’s remark had hit home. Jenna had rarely missed a workout session since moving up here after the divorce. Keeping in shape had become her obsession, had gotten her through the emotional pain, had kept a thirty-eight-year-old body as taut as it had been in her twenties.

As the coffee brewed and Jenna unpacked her grocery bags, Cassie walked to a window and stared at the pump house. “You know, Mom, you’re always giving me advice about boys and dating.” She drew on the condensation on a window with her fingernail.

“That’s my job. I’m your mother.”

“Maybe it’s my turn to give you some.”

“Oh. Okay.” Jenna followed her daughter’s gaze. Harrison had emerged from the small outbuilding and was staring at the main house, as if sizing up the place.

“I don’t like him,” Cassie said, pointing at Harrison.

Jenna wrapped her hand around Cassie’s outstretched finger. She didn’t want Harrison Brennan to see them gesturing toward him. “He’s just trying to help out.”

“I know that’s what it appears, but…” Cassie worried her lower lip and turned to face her mother. “He tries to help out too much and tell you what to do. He’s not really bossy, just seems to think that his way is the best way.”

“Or that there is no other way.”

“Exactly.” Cassie nodded. “Like a really old guy.”

“I know,” Jenna admitted as she wiped off the counter. “He’s not that old. Fifty-two or-three, I think.”

“Oh God, Mom, that’s ancient!” Cassie was appalled.

“To you.”

“And to you, too.”

“No, honey, not really.” She opened the refrigerator and pulled out mustard, mayonnaise, and a jar of pickles. “It’s just that he seems to be from another generation.”

“He is! And Josh’s dad says that he was in the CIA, not the Air Force like he told you. He was a spy or operative or whatever you call them.”