Page 14 of In Hiding

“Make no mistake, you will be held accountable if you bring trouble to my town, Mr. Langley.”

“I told you, Mr. Langley is my father. I’ll see you in three days.”

Wilson huffed. “Assuming you get the job.”

Jake shook his head and bid the cop a good day. He headed back to the pub’s parking lot, where his bike sat under a carport that leaned to the left. He retrieved his helmet and pulled it on. Flipping down the visor, he revved the engine and left the gravel lot. The road that led to Andersen House wound its way up through the hills northeast of Wills Crossing. The air grew colder as he climbed but the view up on the ridge was spectacular. To his right, the forest gave way to a sight filled with rolling hills and, on the valley floor, a patchwork of lush green painted the farmland, defined by dark green lines of trees. Small dams dotted the mosaic, reflecting the gray clouds above.

The view was gone as soon as it appeared, replaced by the twisted trunks and limbs of snow gums, gnarled by the winds that probably howled through these reaches in the depths of winter. Tall pine trees were dotted throughout, reaching for the sky above. He could almost imagine it covered by white, but his vision was likely a terrible substitute for the real thing. If everything went according to plan, he wouldn’t have to wait long.

It was almost forty minutes before he saw the mailbox with Andersen painted on the side. He slowed the bike and turned off the bitumen road. Gravel crunched under his tires as he brought the bike to a complete stop. The driveway continued up a steep hill, at the top of which he could only just make out a gabled roof and little else.

He took a slow, deep breath of the clean, mountain air. Scents of eucalypt and pine woke his senses. It had taken almost two months to find Erik’s sister but the weight of his vow to the Great Dane was never far from his mind. He hoped he prove his worth in the interview so he could make good his pledge to keep her safe.

One step at a time, Jake.

Ahead, a figure appeared at the top of the drive. A young man, by the looks. With an axe in his hand.

~

The rumble of an engine filled the air, disturbing the birds from their roosts in the trees and bringing Sarah out of the kitchen. Wiping her hands on a tea towel, she pushed through the screen door at the side of the house and onto the wide wrap-around veranda. Turning right, she moved toward the front of the house where she found a shiny motorbike parked in the drive. It idled noisily while its rider flicked switches.

Dressed from head to toe in black leather, the tall, muscular rider looked up at her. The shaded visor of his helmet prevented her from seeing his face, but his relaxed body language kept some of her adrenaline at bay. Will jogged up the steps to join her, axe in hand and splinters of wood in his hair. Sarah smiled and ruffled his brown curls to dislodge the flecks. The engine stopped, allowing the natural world around them to return to normal.

“Who is he?”

“He might be the man applying for the handyman job,” she explained. “Or a complete stranger.”

Her son eyed the gleaming Harley Davidson with envy. “I should wait with you until he identifies himself.”

“No.” She patted his shoulder. “I think confronting him with a weapon in your hand might be a little overkill. Go chop your wood.”

“But—”

She gave him a gentle push. He went unwillingly, so painfully slowly that by the time the rider removed his helmet, Will got a good look at him. A head of shaggy, jet-black hair topped a whiskered face. Dark eyes stared up at her as he set the helmet on the back of the bike and swung a leg over to stand. She could hear his leather jacket creak from here.

“Morning,” he called with a smile. His deep, rough voice echoed off the surrounding trees. “Sarah Andersen?”

“You must be Jake Langley.”

He ran a hand through his hair and flexed his fingers. Gazing upward, he took in the enormous house with wide eyes. “Is it always this cold?”

“It is almost winter." She stated the obvious. "Did you find the place easily?"

He nodded and started up the steps. His boots knocked against the wooden treads as he climbed them. “You weren’t wrong, this is a big house.”

That was an understatement. One he’d realize when he saw it in its entirety. “It used to be a ski lodge in the fifties.”

“So, it’s old, too?”

The history of Andersen House dated back to the nineteen twenties. Her great, great grandfather had built the house himself, but back then, it was a single story, single room shack. Somewhere along the line, her ancestors had added rooms and floors. For a time, it served as a halfway house for recently released prisoners. They’d been sent to fell the centuries old alpine trees with seven-foot-long, two-man crosscut saws, along with Clydesdales to pull them out of the forest.

“It’s close to a hundred years old,” she said, feeling the ghosts of her forebears nearby. “Which is why it’s in need of repair. Can I offer you a coffee?”

He glanced across the yard where Will had begun splitting wood again, the loud thwack of his axe resounding through the forest. “So long as it’s hot.”

Sarah stepped aside and swung her hand toward the door. “After you.”

He hesitated a step before entering the house, tugging off his leather gloves. As they walked through the wide corridor, he looked to be taking in the details. Sarah wondered if the high ceilings awed him as much as they did her, or whether he admired the decorative scroll work carved into the large, exposed beams overhead. Or had he come to see that he’d bitten off more than he could chew?

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