White Mountain (13 page)

Bobby Joe began shuffling in the dirt, trying to get to his feet.
 
Jack heard him and turned.
 
All he did was point, but it was enough to keep Bobby Joe on his butt.
 
He turned back to Isabella and took a handkerchief from his pocket, then dabbed at the bruise on her lip.
 
When she winced, he felt the pain all the way to his toes.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
 
“Your lip is bleeding.”

She blushed and looked away, embarrassed by the whole disgusting episode.

“His teeth, I think…they cut my lip when he tried to—“

“He set you up,” Jack said.

Her eyes widened.
 
“No.
 
I had a flat.
 
He stopped to help and—“

“I watched him from the barber shop.
 
I didn’t know exactly what he’d done until now, but he did something to your tire.
 
Where is it?”

Isabella pointed to the trunk.

Jack gave Bobby Joe a hard look and then strode to the trunk.
 
Within seconds, he found what he’d been looking for.

“It’s been cut.”

Isabella gasped and pushed past Jack to confront the bleeding man on the ground.

“Is that true?” she asked.

Bobby Joe moaned.
 
“I din’t mean to hurt…jus’ wanna’ to—“

“Shut up,” Jack said.
 
“It was pretty damned evident what you wanted.
 
However, I’m going to tell you what you’re going to get.
 
What you did to her tire could have caused an accident.
 
You can tell the rest of your excuses to the police.”

Isabella groaned beneath her breath.
 
The incident was getting uglier by the minute, and if this got out, the repercussions from the community would be humiliating, to say the least.

“No,” she begged.
 
“Let him go.”

Jack pivoted angrily.
 
“He could have killed you.”

She glared at Bobby Joe, who was staring at the dirt.

“He’s not a killer.
 
Just stupid.
 
Let him go, Jack.
 
I want this over.”

Her lips were trembling, as was her voice.
 
The plea in her gaze was as fervent as her words had been.
 
Despite his better judgment, he finally nodded, then turned and kicked the bottom of Bobby Joe’s boot.

“Get up, you sorry bastard, and if you ever come near Miss Abbott again, I’ll find out.
 
And when I do, I’ll make you sorry.
 
Do you understand me?”

Bobby Joe was on his feet, a handkerchief pressed to his nose as he ran for his truck.
 
He paused at the door, then looked back.

“I’b really sorry, Isabella.
 
Din’t mean to—“

“Get going,” Jack said.

Bobby Joe jumped into his truck and sped away without looking back.

Jack turned around to find Isabella sitting on the ground, her head between her knees.
 
Her shoulders were shaking, and he suspected she was crying.

“Well, damn,” he muttered, and pulled her to her feet, then put his arms around her.
 
Half expecting her to argue about the familiarity with which he was holding her, he was surprised when she wilted against him.
 
“Don’t cry, Isabella.
 
It’s over, okay?”

“It’ll never be over,” she said, and then began to cry in earnest.

Jack held her, knowing that her tears had nothing to do with what Bobby Joe had done.
 
It was just the final straw in a life turned upside down.

It took all Jack to let Isabella go.

“Get in my car.
 
I’ll take you home.”

Tears were still welling as she turned away in confusion.

“But my car…I can’t just—“

“We’ll deal with it later.
 
Right now you just need to go home.”

The urge to crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head was strong, but if she did, she was afraid she would never come out.

“I’ll be fine,” she said.
 
“It was no big deal.”

“Then why are you still shaking?” Jack asked.

Isabella frowned.
 
“Okay.
 
Fine.
 
Yes, it rattled me, but I’m a big girl.
 
I can take care of myself.”

Her lip was swelling as they stood there arguing, and the sight of it did things to Jack’s head that didn’t bear investigatin.

“Miss Abbott, I have absolutely no doubt that what you’re telling me is true.
 
But chalk it up to an overdose of macho or manners or whatever you choose to call it, I’m still taking you home whether you like it or not.”

Suddenly Isabella’s resistance was gone.
 
All she could do was drop her head and nod.

He took her by the elbow and led her to his car.
 
Wordlessly, she slid into the seat, then leaned back and closed her eyes.
 
The scent of peppermint and something woodsy drifted past her now, but it disappeared when Jack got in, started the car and turned on the air conditioner.

“Buckle up,” he said quietly.

She did as he asked, then tunneled her fingers through her hair in frustration.

“I can’t believe I let that get so out of hand.”

Jack glanced at her as he pulled around her car and headed for the hotel.

“That man who cut your tire…you known him long?”

“All my life.”

“Have you two ever dated?”

She snorted lightly beneath her breath.
 
“No. I’ve never been that desperate.”

Jack savored the news while stifling a grin.
 
“Since we’re being a little personal here, I can’t help but wonder why a woman like you hasn’t married.”

Isabella turned to look at him, absently noting that his profile was as hard and unforgiving as the surrounding mountains.

“Exactly what is a woman like me?” she asked, and then thought she saw a flash of color on his cheeks.

“You have to know how beautiful you are,” Jack said, and then tapped the brakes as a deer bounded across the road.

“Local hazard,” Isabella said, then added, “And thank you for the compliment.”

Jack nodded.
 
“You’re welcome.
 
So…why aren’t you married?”

“You’re persistent, aren’t you?”

“It goes with the job,” he said without thinking.
 
Then silently cursed his stupidity.
 
He’d been thinking about being a Federal agent when he’d said that.

“Yes, I suppose writers do have to be more persistent than most.”

“Right,” he said, and relaxed slightly, reminding himself to be more careful about what he said, then added,
 
“But you still haven’t answered me.”

Isabella laughed out loud and then winced.

“Ouch,” she mumbled, and pressed her fingers against the cut on her lip.
 
“Lord!
  
The uncles are going to have a fit.”

“As they should,” Jack said.

Isabella grinned.
 
“My hero,” she said, and this time she knew she saw him blush.
 
“I’m not married because I’ve never been in love, and I happen to believe that the two go hand in hand.”

“Never?”

“Except for Phillip Hanson.”

Even before he asked, Jack decided he didn’t like Phillip Hanson.

“Who’s he?”

“The boy who sat in front of me in second grade.
 
He gave me bubble gum every day for two weeks.
 
I was in love right up until the day Margaret Bailey moved to town.
 
After that, he started giving her what I considered to be my gum, and we fell out of love as quickly as we’d started.”

This time Jack was the one who laughed.
 
“It was his loss.”

Isabella sighed as she clasped her hands together in her lap.
 
The ugliness of what had transpired was fading, and it was all due to Jack Dolan’s kindness.

“Jack?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

He frowned.
 
“If I’d been quicker, it wouldn’t have happened.”

“No, not for that,” she said.
 
“For making me laugh.”

A wry grin tilted one corner of his mouth.

“You’re welcome.”

“We’re almost there,” Isabella said, pointing toward the windshield.

Jack looked past the road to the looming mountain beyond the hotel.

“That’s quite a backdrop,” he said.

“What?
 
White Mountain?”

He nodded.

Her gaze slid from the three-story hotel in the distance to the massive shift of rock beyond it, and she suddenly shuddered.
 
“Yes, magnificent, isn’t it?
 
Although when I was a child, it gave me the creeps.”

It was the last thing Jack would have expected her to say.

“Why?”

“No good reason,” she said, and then shrugged off the chill she’d gotten as she’d looked up toward the craggy peak.
 
“I used to imagine that something wicked lived on the mountain.”

“And now?”

“Now I know that wickedness can be anywhere.
 
Let’s just say I’ve learned to adjust.”

Jack knew she was referring in part to Frank Walton’s murder.
 
It was the opportune time to throw in a few questions.

“You’re talking about your uncle’s murder, aren’t you?”

She hesitated for a moment, then nodded.
 
“I guess I am.”

“Was he on vacation?”

She frowned.
 
“I think so.
 
It was all so sudden.
 
One day he just up and announced at the breakfast table that he was going on a trip.
 
Uncle Rufus offered to go with him, but Uncle Frank turned him down.
 
Said he had to go by himself.”

“Where did he go?” Jack asked, although he already knew where Frank Walton had been killed.

“We found out later.
 
New York City…actually, a place called Brighton Beach.
 
I suppose he had business there, but I can’t imagine what it would have been.
 
He was a retired botanist, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know,” Jack said.
 
So she didn’t know about his background—or, if she did, she isn’t telling.
 
Í understand he wasn’t really related to you.”

Her shoulders slumped.
 
“None of the uncles are.
 
My only living relative was my father.”

“Interesting, though how they all consider you their family,” Jack said.
 
“I guess they got to know you when they moved here.”

Isabella shook her head.
 
“They’re part of my earliest memories,” she said.
 
“In fact, they were here before me.”

“Really?” Jack said.
 
“They must have been fairly young men then, at least in their forties.
 
It’s odd that they would all wind up here, practicing their respective professions, isn’t it?”

Isabella frowned.
 
It
was
odd, but these were things she had never really considered.

“I suppose,” she muttered, then undid her seat belt as Jack pulled to a stop and perked.
 
“Now to face the music.”

“But not alone,” Jack said, and got out of the car to open the door for her.

Not alone.
 
Isabella shivered as she watched Jack Dolan circle the car to help her out.
 
When he slid a hand beneath her elbow, her heart gave a funny jerk and then settled.

They made it into the lobby and past the front desk; then David Schultz came into the lobby from the veranda and waved.
 
It wasn’t until he got closer that he realized something was wrong.

“You’ve been crying,” he said, and gave Jack a hard look.

“It wasn’t his fault,” Isabella said.
 
“So wipe that glare off your face.”

The old man cupped the side of her face, and when he saw her cut and swelling lip, he gasped.

“Isabella!
 
Darling!
 
What happened to you?”

“Oh…it wasn’t such a big deal.
 
I just—“

Jack interrupted again, his nostrils flaring angrily.
 
“Damn it, Isabella, quit making excuses for the son of a bitch.
 
He cut the tire to make sure it went flat.”