Cold Dawn

“Let me know what I can do to help get things ready.”

“You could help tap trees. Anyway, I should get over there.”

“Sure, Rose. Martini going with you?”

“No idea,” she said. “I’m leaving Ranger by the fire.”

“Golden retriever. California smoke jumper.” Zack shook his head, amused. “Two different animals, Rose.”

She felt another surge of heat, but he was already on his way to his truck.

Eight

F ive minutes later, Rose walked down Ridge Road in the opposite direction she’d taken on her run, checking for tap-worthy maple trees. Ranger loved being out on the ridge and had moved well earlier, but her aging golden retriever could miss this trek.

She turned onto a short, dead-end lane across from a trail up to the falls. It was plowed but just barely. She’d have at most a hundred yards of slogging through snow in her boots to get to the sugar shack through the woods. Lauren would head across the meadow on snowshoes, pulling the kids on a toboggan, and meet her there.

As Rose navigated icy ruts on the lane, she wondered where Nick might be, what he was up to, but knew that would only frustrate her. She’d focus on her routines and her work and let him go about his business.

She paused, noticing the sun was higher in the sky, the early promise of spring. She peered down the steep hill on the side of the lane, past a cluster of white pines, and took note of mature, healthy-looking sugar maples that would be perfect for tapping.

She heard a whooshing sound and spun around, just as Robert Feehan jumped out from behind a hemlock and dropped next to her. His dark hair fell into his face and curled out from under his wool knit hat, hanging almost to his shoulders. He was thin, and he looked as if he hadn’t slept, with shadows under his eyes and a gray cast to his skin. He had on a black ski jacket, wind pants and heavy cold-weather boots but no gloves—they were stuffed in a jacket pocket, despite the temperature.

“Rose,” he said, gulping in a breath, “I have to talk to you.”

“You need to talk to the police.”

“I can’t. Not yet.”

She didn’t like his panicked tone, and took a step back toward the lane. “All right. Let’s go back to the lodge.”

“No, we talk here.” He grabbed her wrist, clamping down hard on bare skin. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want—”

“Let me go, Robert. Then we can talk.”

He tightened his hold on her wrist and nodded down the hill. “I’m going to take you down there. Out of sight.” He was agitated but seemed to have himself under control. “Then you can go.”

Not a chance, Rose thought, quickly debating her options.

He yanked her into the deep snow under the tall, gnarly hemlock. Shaking visibly, he lifted her wrist and pressed her forearm against her chest, pushing her into the prickly boughs of the hemlock. “What happened? Why is Derek dead?”

“There was a fire—”

“I know there was a fire. That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“I don’t know any more than you do.”

“The police think I was involved, don’t they?” He sniffled but didn’t ease his hold on her. “This damn town’s been nothing but bad luck for me.”

“Robert,” Rose said, forcing herself not to tense under his grip and waste energy, “you have to let go of me. Don’t make things worse for yourself. I know you’re upset. I know you and Derek were friends.”

“He cared about you. He never would have hurt you.”

Rose didn’t argue with him. “We hadn’t had anything to do with each other in a long time.”

Robert’s grip on her softened. “Rose, did someone kill him? Was he murdered?”

“A state trooper was just at the lodge. He can’t be that far—”

“I saw his cruiser go up the road. I waited for it to go by again.” He kept his voice low, but he practically spit his words. “I’m an outsider around here. I don’t know anyone. It’d be easy for someone to set me up, blame me— come after me.”

“Brett Griffin’s in the same position you are. He talked to the police.”

“Brett’s not sharing a house with Derek. He’s kept both of us at a distance since last year.” Robert glanced up at the lane, then back again at Rose. “What if someone did kill Derek? What if I’m next?”

“All the more reason to talk to the police.”

“They can’t help me. What’s with you and this guy from California?”

His question took her by surprise. “Nick? What do you know about him?”

“Nothing. Derek was all freaked out about him.”

“When?”

“Last night. He stopped at the house and got his camping gear and took off. What’s this Nick character doing in Vermont?”

“He’s my brother Sean’s business partner. Why would his presence freak out Derek?”

“He didn’t say,” Robert said, suddenly loosening his grip on her. “I have to go.”

Rose started to pull her wrist free, but Robert shoved her backward into the hemlock and bolted up the hill. She twisted away from the tree and its sharp, dried-up lower limbs, and sprawled into the snow, breaking her fall as best she could with an outstretched arm.

She rolled onto her hands and knees.

“Rose!”

It was Nick, swooping down the hill toward her. Robert must have spotted him through the woods. She scrambled to her feet, but Nick caught her by the elbows and stood her up. “I’m going after him,” she said.

“Hold on,” Nick said, his dark eyes on her, intense. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine.” She shuddered at the shock of cold as snow melted on her face, into the heels of her hands, into her ankles—down her back. “Robert Feehan just shoved me and took off through the woods, toward the road. He must have seen or heard you.”

“I saw him. I didn’t realize what was going on.”

“I’m going after him,” Rose said again, pulling herself out from Nick’s hold.

He shook his head. “No, you’re not.”

Rose realized her hands were shaking from cold, anger, fear—and Nick. His presence, his touch, his hard gaze. She pushed past him in the deep snow. “Lauren’s on the way to the sugar shack. You should go there. I’ll meet you—”

“Not a chance, Rose.”

She didn’t respond and followed Robert’s footprints past a pine tree. She heard Nick sigh and cut up the hill, intercepting her just as she reached the dead-end lane. He was in boots, too, not on skis or snowshoes, and wore his lightweight jacket from yesterday. Again no hat, but he didn’t seem cold.

“Robert Feehan is Derek Cutshaw’s friend,” she said without looking at Nick. “The one the police are looking for. He wanted to talk to me.”

“Did he attack you?”

“Attack is too strong a word. He wanted to talk to me alone. I told you—he didn’t hurt me. I just got snow down my back.”

“Now there’s an image,” Nick said, his voice husky, but his humor didn’t reach his eyes. “Do you want to call 911, or one of your friends in law enforcement personally?”

“Robert was agitated—”

“He knows the police want to talk to him and took off when he saw me. What does that tell you?”

“Why didn’t you go after him?”

Nick’s dark eyes narrowed. “I wasn’t about to leave you alone.”

It was what she’d have done in his place. Rose wiped melted snow from her cheek. “Robert didn’t have to run.” She exhaled, feeling calmer. “I’ll try Scott first. I have his cell number and he was just at the lodge.”