Blue Ridge Hideaway - Cynthia Thomason

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stared at the pile. “That’s it? There can’t be fifty dollars here.”

      “Fifty-two,” he said. “Take it or leave it.”

      Dorie stuffed them in her pocket. She looked up at Bret who’d been watching the show with a pretty good idea of how it would end up. His expectations were right on. His father had been up to his old tricks. He’d obviously conned this woman somehow, and he’d run away to the mountains to lay low.

      “Arrest your father, Mr. Police Officer,” Dorie said. “He’s a liar and a thief.”

      “That may be so,” Bret said. “But I’m an ex-cop, remember? I can’t officially arrest anybody.”

      “Well, you’ve got a problem then, junior. I’m not leaving here without my five grand.”

      Bret looked at his dad. “Five grand, Pop?”

      Clancy shrugged. “Can’t remember. Might have been.”

      “So what are you two going to do about it?” Dorie asked.

      Bret blew out a long breath. He was going to have to tell this woman that he wasn’t responsible for his father’s debts. And when he did, was he going to have to wrestle that can of mace out of her grip?

      “Right now I’m going to put more wood on the fire,” he said, buying some time. The room was growing colder by the minute, but the chill he felt now had little to do with the plunging temperature outside.

      CHAPTER TWO

      WITH THE FIRE roaring nearby, a whisper of heat coming from the floor vents and her hands wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee which Bret had refilled twice, Dorie felt a subtle hint of encouragement seep into her bones. Tension eased from her shoulders. She let out a long breath and took an even longer one deep into her lungs.

      As her body let go of some of the day’s anxiety, she made a thoughtful appraisal of Bret Donovan that went beyond his obvious good looks. He had been attentive and responsive to her story. Perhaps, she almost allowed herself to believe, even a bit sympathetic. Could she conclude now that he was nothing like his father and would do the honorable thing and make amends for what Clancy had done to her?

      A few minutes ago she’d paused in relating the events which had led her to Clancy more than three months ago. She waited for Bret to respond to what he’d learned so far.

      He set his coffee mug on the table. “So this company you sold the rights to, this Family Picnic Company, was your principal livelihood?” he said.

      “That’s right. And along with my partner, we made a decent living.”

      “So, if you don’t mind my asking, why did you sell your half to your partner?”

      “I had to. I needed money.”

      She didn’t elaborate about the small cottage her mother had left her when she ran off. He didn’t need to know that. The simple two-bedroom house wasn’t worth much, but Dorie was determined not to sell it. So she told him how she and her friend had started the Family Picnic Company to cater to people who wanted to host outdoor events, barbecues and such. She would hitch a wagon that carried ribs and all the makings of her secret sauce and baked beans behind her Ranger. Her partner would tow the funnel-cake-and-candy-apple cart, and they would set up anywhere folks wanted to treat friends and family to an outdoor party. Once word got around, she was busy almost every weekend.

      Other than admitting she needed money, she hadn’t given Bret specific details explaining why she’d been forced to sell her only means of support. When she’d gone to work for Clancy a few months ago, she hadn’t even told him that crucial bit of information, and he hadn’t asked. Now, even if she told them, she doubted the heartless father and his ex-cop son would understand her need to pay the fees of the high-priced attorney she’d hired to defend her brother. Especially since her brother had been accused, wrongfully she believed, of participating in a shooting. The money she’d gotten from the sale of her share of the picnic company had gone to the firm of Hawkes, Schreiber and Bolger, and more was owed now.

      Maybe Bret wouldn’t ask her why she needed the money. The honorable thing would be to just give her the five thousand dollars and send her down the mountain. Maybe he even had the cash squirreled away at The Crooked Spruce. The outpost was so remote, there would be little danger of theft. And a lot of people didn’t trust the bank anymore. If Bret didn’t have the cash, she’d take a check. Once she was gone, he could get Clancy to pay the money back any way he could.

      “You must have needed money pretty badly to take that step,” Bret said.

      “I did,” she said. “I sold my share of the business because I owed money and was obligated to pay it.” She speared Clancy with a telling look. “That’s what honest people do when they have a debt.”

      He stared at the ceiling.

      “Now I need what you owe me, Clancy.” Especially since I’ve found out that my financial responsibility to Jack’s defense is just beginning.

      Bret sat across the picnic table from her. He put his elbows on the top and leaned forward. Those soft nut-brown eyes, which had captured her imagination an hour ago, now seemed capable of reading her thoughts. She looked down, avoiding his gaze. She’d never been in trouble with the law, but still, after what Jack had been through, she didn’t think she’d ever be comfortable under a cop’s intense scrutiny.

      “So how does all this lead up to you getting a job working with my father?” he asked.

      She focused on Clancy. His hands were clasped on the tabletop. His attention could have been fixed on the tiny hairs on the backs of his fingers. Since he wasn’t looking at her, maybe he was finally embarrassed about how he’d misled her. Or maybe he was trying to figure out another plan to get away with cheating her.

      “You know your father owned the Crab Trap, a bar on Winston Beach?” she said to Bret.

      He admitted that he was aware of his father’s business venture. “I never saw the place for myself,” he said. “For the short time my dad owned it, I was—” he stopped, glanced at his father “—I was indisposed for a while and couldn’t visit him.”

      The vagueness of his answer registered as a tingle of alarm down Dorie’s spine. Maybe the ex-cop had some secrets of his own. “I had been in there a time or two after Clancy bought it,” she said. “The Crab Trap catered to a local crowd, people who had been around Winston Beach for a long time.”

      “So not your typical tourist types?”

      She shook her head. “Definitely not. The Trap was filled with old-timers, bikers and roughnecks, mostly.”

      Bret smiled. “And one Dorinda Howe.”

      “I wasn’t a regular. But the day after I sold my business, I drove by the place and saw a help-wanted sign in the window. Being unemployed at the time, I went in and applied for the waitress job.”

      Clancy finally raised his head to stare at his son. “Which I gave her because of the generous nature of my character.”

      Bret frowned. “Right. Go on, Dorie.”

      “Oh, that much is the truth, minus the generous nature part. He gave me the job.”

      “I sure did,” Clancy said. “I figured she could make the Trap the place to go for barbeque in the area, plus clean up the image a bit. A win-win for both of us.”

      Dorie frowned. “But what Clancy isn’t telling you is that he had the Crab Trap up for sale at the time, which totally affected my job security. But that was okay. He had a right to sell it. Only thing is, he didn’t own the building. He was only leasing it, so he didn’t have much real property to sell. He was trying to find a buyer for his license, the equipment, which basically included the beer taps, furniture, grills and deep fryers.” She leveled an icy stare at Clancy. “And, what he calls the goodwill he’d

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