Blue Ridge Hideaway. Cynthia Thomason

low, guttural mumbling was easy to identify. Dorie couldn’t tell what he was saying, but his muffled words seemed argumentative.

      The steady timbre of Bret’s voice was just as distinctive as his father’s but for a different reason. She wasn’t able to make out the specifics, but Bret seemed to be countering his father’s grumbling with rationality.

      She exhaled slowly and leaned against the door frame. She wanted to believe that Bret would devise a plan to pay her back, but her instincts warned her to remain wary. Even so, hope began a slow, steady battle with her skepticism.

      Her thoughts backtracked to when they had all entered the lodge. Bret had removed his mackinaw, hung it on a rack by the door, along with the Marlins baseball cap he’d been wearing. Maybe his cap was from Florida, but he seemed much more at home in this rugged, harsh climate.

      Dorie twisted so her shoulder was against the door, her ear close to one of the dark-stained panels. The conversation inside seemed to have reached a lull, prompting her to put even more faith in Clancy’s son. If he was reasonable, she could be, as well. She wouldn’t fall into the trap of judging all police officers by the few who’d treated Jack with such overt prejudice. That would be no more justified than watching cops judge her brother by the standards of all troubled teens.

      Yes, Bret would make this right. He would understand that his father had cheated her and, recognizing that their family honor was at stake, very well might assume responsibility for paying her the money his father owed. In a few minutes, with five thousand dollars in her pocket, Dorie could be on her way back to Winston Beach.

      * * *

      BRET PACED. It’s what he’d done back when he was on the Dade County homicide division and all the clues had been there, in front of his eyes, and he hadn’t been able to put them together. It’s what he did now when he was worried about his son, Luke, and wondered if the decision he’d made for both of them was the right one. It’s what he did when he thought of Miranda and how he could have saved her if only...

      Clancy sat at the kitchen table, his hands folded, his gaze fixed on his son. They’d discussed and argued the details of the debt, and Clancy had admitted his guilt.

      “Look, Bret, I know how you must be feeling. I screwed up again. I get that. When I’m able to put a few bucks in my pocket, the old demon comes back, and I just have to risk it on the bigger payoff.”

      “How many times are we going to have this conversation, Pop?”

      “This time is different, son. This time I really disappointed you. I’ll make it right. I’ll stay here and work on this project of yours until I pay you back the whole five grand.”

      “Pay me back? Now I’m supposed to hire you on top of everything else?”

      “You told me you were going to hire somebody. Why not me? I can work hard.”

      Bret stopped walking, turned and faced his father. Yes, he had admitted that he’d need to hire a helper to get the camp up and running in time. And his dad did have skills. “You bet you will,” he said. “I own you until this place is open and then some.”

      “Fair enough.”

      Bret stared at the door. “But what about that woman out there? What do we do about her tonight?”

      Clancy had the decency to look at least a bit guilty. He avoided Bret’s stare. “Maybe she’ll accept payments. I’ll send her a little every month until we’re square.”

      “You think that’s going to make her happy? Because I don’t. She wants the whole thing. I can’t see her leaving this mountain without the five grand.”

      Clancy seemed to shrink in his chair. “She does seem determined. Tell me, son, do you have five thousand dollars?”

      Bret had known this question was coming. Still every muscle in his body tensed. His reserves were running low. He’d spent most of his savings and the majority of his disability checks to get The Crooked Spruce ready. The last thing he wanted to do was pay his dad’s debt. Yes, he had five thousand, but he wasn’t ready to admit that to his father.

      “Oh, sure, Pop.” He pulled out a drawer. “It’s right here in the kitchen junk drawer!”

      “I didn’t mean here at the outpost. I meant anywhere.”

      “Do you know what she needs the money for?” Bret asked.

      “Haven’t a clue. She said she owes somebody. All I can say is that I don’t believe she’s in trouble with bad people or anything. She was a good worker. Came in every day. Never caused any problems.”

      The law enforcement wheels in Bret’s head continued to piece together the story of Dorie Howe. “Doesn’t mean she’s not into something illegal or dangerous, Pop. In my business—my former business—you learn that even the most innocent-looking people can be hiding something.” And with that can of mace and a hundred pounds of grit packed into her little body, Dorie Howe could be hiding plenty.

      At the image of her pretty face scowling up at him, he couldn’t resist a secret smile. He shook his head. Good grief, Donovan, you’ve been away from women too long!

      “Why don’t you check her out?” Clancy said. “Call one of your contacts from the force.”

      Bret had been thinking the same thing. Dorie had proved her case, and Pop definitely owed her, but she was so desperate to get the money that Bret’s cop instincts had gone on instant alert. Did he have the right to check her out? You bet he did. She was on his mountain, mixed up in his family. He not only had the right. He had an obligation. Especially with Luke due back in the morning.

      Luke. Thinking of his son brought to mind a whole different set of responsibilities. He honestly hoped the kid had had fun with his aunt and cousins the past week. He’d certainly been anxious to go, though Bret had been reluctant to agree to the time away. True, this mountain location wasn’t everything a ten-year-old could hope for. But Bret still believed he’d made the right decision to get them out of Miami, away from the bad memories.

      And he’d done all he could to make the move seem like an adventure. In just a few months he’d taught his son survival skills, introduced him to tools and construction, taken him to town a couple times a week to rent video games, see movies, eat pizza. He’d thought he had all the bases covered, and yet the boy still seemed unhappy much of the time. And too excited about going to Atlanta with his aunt Julie.

      He refocused on his father and the current problem. “What do you know about Dorie, Pop? Family, friends, that sort of thing.”

      “Not much. I didn’t ask her a lot of personal questions when she applied for the job. She was like a saving grace when she walked in the Crab Trap that day, willing to work to put a little spit and polish on the place. A few people she knew stopped in from time to time, and they talked. I don’t know what about, but they seemed to like her. Left her good tips, I remember. I knew about that picnic company and how it was her living. But I just figured that made her more valuable to me. She knew something about food and service.”

      Bret took a sip of his coffee. “I’m going to call Rob at the department,” he said. “Let’s see what we can find out about Miss Dorie Howe.” He paused before adding, “She is a ‘miss,’ right, Pop? No husband or mobster boyfriend to show up here one day?”

      “Not married,” Clancy confirmed. “And if she has a boyfriend I never met him. She’s a cute little thing, though, so...”

      Bret had already determined that for himself but wasn’t about to let Dorie Howe’s cuteness deter him from what he thought was right. “Never mind, Pop,” he said. “As long as some husband isn’t going to follow her up here and put another plug in me.”

      “Heaven forbid,” Clancy said. “Can’t go through that again.”

      Bret took his cell phone from his back pocket. “Reception is always better at night,” he said. “Less interference from the towers. I’m