Witness In The Woods. Michele Hauf
“What is it?” She shrugged out of his grasp with a huff. He looked concerned now. Too much so. She didn’t want any man’s pity.
“Seriously? Skylar, I’m not here for lemonade. I’m here to make sure you’re okay. And not bleeding.” He looked from her head down to her shoulders and all the way to her feet, then back up again. “And—where did the shots come from? Do you know who it was? How long has it been? I should go outside and take a look around. It’s this way, right?”
He headed through the living area and skirted the long quartz kitchen counter. Toward the back of the house sat the screened-in sunporch that stretched the width of the cabin and overlooked the lake. Once before, he’d been in this cabin. When her father had been dying, he’d come to pay his respects. But how dare he traipse on through—
Skylar stopped herself from reprimanding him. He was here on duty. And she had called the police for help, much as her better judgment had screamed for her not to. Would she hear about this from her uncle? On the other hand, maybe Malcolm Davis already knew about the incident. And, yes, that thought sickened Skylar.
“Just through the sliding doors,” she called to Joe. “You can take the deck stairs down to the backyard.”
After grabbing her cowboy hat, which rested on the back of the couch and which she wore like any other woman might wear earrings or a favorite necklace, she followed the man’s bowlegged pace out to the deck.
Standing on the high wood deck, which was stilted ten feet up due to the slope of the ground below, Joe took in everything. The perimeter of the yard was round, echoing out from the firepit in the center. Surrounding the yard were striped hostas that grew thick and lush in the shade provided by the paper birch and sugar maple.
He took the stairs down to the ground. “Where were you? Were you burning a fire?”
He walked over to the fire pit and peered over it. Burnt cedar lingered in the air. As well, the grass was speckled with gray ash flakes from her hastily dowsing the flames with the garden hose after calling the sheriff.
Skylar cringed when she noticed the wedding dress was only half burned and melted among the charred logs. She hadn’t thought to cover up what she’d been doing. It had been a personal moment. A much-needed ritual of release. A reclaiming of her power.
Joe scratched his head. Hands at his hips, head cocked downward, he stared at the remnants of the dress. Skylar didn’t want to answer the question that must be lighting all the circuits in his brain right now.
“Tell me everything,” he said. Then he stretched his gaze around the backyard and out toward the lake. “Did you get a look at the shooter? Were they on your property? Cruising by in a boat? Partyers out for a spin on the lake?”
“I don’t know.” Skylar walked over to the smoldering fire pit and stood beside the hitching post, which she utilized as a stand to hang roasting sticks and an emergency water bucket she always kept filled when she was burning.
“I was burning a few things. And… I was about here.” She stepped to the right a few feet and Joe turned to eye her intently. Dark stubble shadowed his jaw. The golden evening light, beaming through the tree canopy, granted his eyes a rich emerald cast. Everything about the man was intense, dark and—waiting on her.
“Yes, here,” she decided, stomping her boot toe into the grass. “I was talking to Stella—”
“There was someone else here?”
“Stella, my wolf.”
“Your…wolf?” He hooked his hands in the back pockets of his pants and looked about. “What the—? You took in a wolf cub?”
“Stella has been with me a few years. I found her in a snare trap when she was a pup. I hate it when hunters call those things humane. They are anything but. I took her to the office in town and had to amputate her back leg. Since then, she’s flourished. She’s not around right now.”
Skylar scanned the area. The wolf must be off with the half-dozen chickens—surprisingly, her best friends. Stella was protective of Skylar, but she always left the immediate area when visitors or company arrived. She was a little skittish until she could scent out the newcomer, and then she would eventually put in an appearance.
“I do rehabilitate animals,” Skylar pointed out to Joe, who nodded.
“Right. I just thought keeping a wolf as a pet…”
“I have a permit.”
“Sure. Still, they are a wild animal.” He gave her a side glance that dripped with judgment.
“She had nowhere else to go. I tried to get her to return to the pack, but they wouldn’t have it.”
“Uh-huh.” He wasn’t having it, either.
Yes, wolves were wild and should never be kept as pets. Skylar agreed with that wholeheartedly. But when injured and abandoned by their pack, the wolf’s only future was living as a loner. And for a pup living out in the wild populated with predators, the fate was most certainly a cruel death.
It didn’t matter to her what Joe thought of her choice to keep Stella. Skylar loved her like a family member.
“So you were standing right there and…?” he prompted.
“I was watching the flames, talking to Stella and…at first I felt something on my ear. Thought it was a wicked mosquito bite.”
She touched her ear and Joe stepped forward. It was well past the supper hour, and the forest edging her backyard filtered the setting sun, turning it into a hazy twilight. He dug out a small flashlight from a back pocket and shone it on her ear. The man stood so close she could smell his aftershave—something subtle yet masculine with a hint of lemony citronella.
He examined her ear, which had been nicked on the top and had bled minimally. Of course, she’d gasped at the sight of it in the bathroom mirror. She’d never been so close to being killed in her life. And that had angered more than frightened her. What would have become of Stella and the other animals she cared for if she had died? The thought of them being relocated, or worse, was heart wrenching.
As Joe looked her over, she studied his face. There were three Cash brothers, all born and raised in Crooked Creek, a sister town to Checker Hill. There wasn’t a female in either of the two close towns who didn’t know who they were, because those boys were genetic anomalies, fashion models roughed up by the wild. Sinuous and muscular. So sexy. And Joe’s deep green eyes were a thing to behold.
“If that bullet had been half an inch closer…” The man suddenly bowed his head and winced.
Skylar was taken aback by his reaction. “Joe? What’s wrong? I’m okay.”
“Right.” He lifted his head and his jaw pulsed with tension. “You always were able to take care of yourself.”
He’d learned exactly what she’d hoped to teach him about her. Regrettably.
Skylar lifted her chin bravely. “Still can take care of myself.”
“Being shot at is no way to go about it, Skylar. If anything would have happened to you…” He winced again and looked aside, toward the fire pit.
Skylar found herself leaning forward in hopes of him finishing that sentence. Then again, she suspected how he would finish it. He’d never hidden his interest in her. And she wasn’t prepared for such a statement right now.
If only he’d said as much to her two months earlier. Of course, then he’d been avoiding her like the plague.
It was well deserved on her part.
He placed his hands akimbo and scanned the lake. “Do you know what direction the shot was fired from?”
She pointed out through the gap in the bowed birch trees that she’d always thought of as a sort of pulled-back curtain to the stage of the lake. “I