Page 26 of Cold Case, Warm Hearts

She took a long, grateful sip. It wasn’t Kona coffee, but it was good. “This is exactly what I needed. Thank you.”

“Did you sleep all right?”

“Not exactly. Any chance you drove up here last night to check on me?”

He squinted, and his head tilted to the side. “Uh… no. Should I have?”

She sat in one of the chairs. It felt solid, but the once-white paint was peeling off the seat. The table was a dull brown, but it seemed sturdy and solid. She took another sip, wishing she didn’t have to burden her contractor with this. But who else did she have?

He sat in the other chair. “Did something happen?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” She told him about her walk and the vehicle she’d seen.

By the time she was finished with the story, his lips were pressed together. “Somebody was watching the house?”

“I thought so at the time, but maybe…I don’t know. Maybe people come up here to look at the stars or something? Or maybe... Are there any other houses on this road?”

“Summer homes for tourists farther up.” There was something in the set of his mouth, the lowered eyebrows, that made her think he was angry.

“I’m probably just being paranoid.”

“There are miles of road between here and town. Whoever was driving that car, if they wanted to look at stars or peer into the woods or…make out, if it was a couple of kids, they could’ve done it anywhere along the road. They stopped here for a reason.”

“So you think?—?”

“Exactly what you think.” He stood and ran a hand over his head, then swiveled to face her. “First, Bart Bradley and all those glares at the restaurant.”

He’d seen that? She hadn’t thought?—

“And then…” He swallowed hard, shaking his head. “Now your house is being watched. What’s going on here, Aspen?”

“I don’t know.” Had her voice shaken? She’d lain awake for hours, terrified, not falling asleep until the world outside her window started to brighten. At some point, she’d convinced herself that she’d overreacted.

It seemed Garrett disagreed. “You have no idea?”

“I’ve never been here before. This is your town. I don’t know these people.”

“They seem to think they know you, though.” He sat and studied her. He wore a dark gray chamois button-down that looked warm and soft, so unlike the glare he was giving her.

“Are you angry about something?”

“You came to fix up this house and sell it,” he said. “And what else did you say? Do something that has to do with your parents? What exactly?”

“How is this your business?”

“It’s not.” He dropped his head back and stared at the ceiling, taking a deep breath. “I’m not angry with you.” He pushed back the chair and stepped through the door into the kitchen. He returned a moment later and set a backpack on the table. “I drew up the plans we talked about. Do you want to look at them now?”

“Uh…” The change of subject had her reeling. It was too early in the morning for this.

Well, not early, exactly.

“I guess,” she said.

After another long moment of him watching her, he said, “Why don’t you get something to eat, try to wake up a little.”

He was right. Food would help. “You want anything?”

“I’m good.”

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