Page 20 of Edge of Ruin
The coffee began to gurgle. He went to the stove, leaving me free to normalize my breathing.
The coffee tasted wonderful washing down Margaret’s cookies. Jack finished his cup, got up, and rinsed it briskly. “I’d better get going,” he said. “You going to be okay by yourself here with no wheels?”
“I’ll be fine,” I said. “I’ve got Edna. We’re all set.”
“Help yourself to anything you might need, in my cupboards, or the fridge,” he said. “There’s the phone, as you see. Feel free. Oh, and I called Dwayne Pritchett about your van. He’ll be coming over with his tractor as soon as it dries up, but he doesn’t want to risk it for a few days yet.”
“Great. I appreciate that,” I said. “Also, could you tell me how to find the hot springs? Maybe Edna and I will hike up and take a look.”
He spun around. “Hot springs?” His eyes had gone cold.
I shrank back, startled at his reaction. “Uh, yeah. Margaret said there were some natural hot springs upriver a couple of miles. Is something wrong?”
He scowled down into the sink. “Shit.”
“What’s the matter?” I demanded. “Are you pissed because I know about them?”
“Not at you. I’m just irritated with Margaret. We have a long-standing agreement to keep the springs secret. Nobody wants hikers trespassing on our land. Now, out of the blue, Margaret decides to tell a stranger about them.”
“I’m hardly a trespassing hiker,” I pointed out, insulted.
“No, but it’s not as if you’re a long-term resident.”
“Oh. Does that mean you’ll be kicking me out?” I rose to my feet, holding my back as straight as I could. “Please be clear about that, Kendrick. Before I start ordering furniture.”
“Don’t take it personally,” he said impatiently. “It’s just that Margaret should’ve discussed it with me first, that’s all. And don’t call me Kendrick. It makes me feel like I’m back in boot camp. I’ll take you to the springs when I get back from Portland.”
I counted to ten, lips pressed flat. “Please, don’t trouble yourself.” I wished I hadn’t asked him at all. Hell, I could probably have found it on my own. A couple of miles upriver, right? How hard could it be?
He read my mind, and fixed me with a stern glare. “Do not go without me,” he said forcefully. “The cliffs are dangerous, and the path is washed out.”
“Fine.” I deposited my coffee cup in the sink.
“I’ll be back around four, if you want to go then,” he added.
“Like I said, don’t go to any trouble. I’m sure I’ll be extremely busy.”
“It’s no trouble. I meant what I said about not going alone.”
“I heard you the first time.” I let his door slam shut.
Ouch. I’d done it to myself once again. Whenever I let down my guard, zing, pow, he insulted me again.
The second I heard his truck pull out, I went downstairs and into Jack’s kitchen and dialed Nell’s new cell phone number. My sister picked up promptly. “Hey, you,” she said. “Is everything okay?”
“Hey, yourself,” I replied. “How’s Italy?”
“Amazing,” Nell replied. “We were just finishing up a late lunch. Fabulous food and amazing wine, and everything is beautiful. So how’s the flower farm?”
“Hmmph. Problematic.” I recounted the debacle in the rain and mud. Nell expressed the appropriate horrified sympathy.
“Anyway,” I concluded. “So here I am, stuck like a bug on flypaper. But that, I kid you not, is the least of my problems.”
“Oh, really? What’s going on?” Nell prompted.
I paused, suspicious of the out-of-place cheerfulness in my sister’s voice. “Jack Kendrick is my problem, Nell. As I am sure you know.”
“Oh? In what sense?” Nell asked, all innocence.
