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“Thanks, Renata, but I think I’d better go look for him,” he answered reluctantly. “If he’s not here he might be on the road or maybe at the lodge.”
Renata stepped out onto the porch, her delicate face lit up by the porch light, which was attracting an army of moths. “Do you want me to go with you? Or take my own car? I know all the back ways into this place, Michael. I know the footpaths from the lodge.”
He had no ready comeback for that. The truth was, she did know the area better than he did, and he desperately wanted to find his grandfather before it got completely dark. The old guy was tough, but it could be dangerous for him to spend another night out in the open. He might still get sick because of last night’s exposure.
Michael gazed at Renata and tried to weigh his options. She looked so pretty standing there in the twilight, her eyes vibrant, her skin creamy and pale. But her expression had sobered since he’d explained why he’d come, and now he could read nothing on her face but human concern for a frail old fellow who quite literally didn’t know enough to come in out of the rain.
“I’d appreciate your help,” Michael said slowly. “I really hate to bother Lieutenant Bauer again. I kept him up all night, you know, and he’d worked half a shift before I even showed up at the station.”
“Just let me get a flashlight,” she said, then vanished into the house.
As he watched her shapely backside sprint away from him, he loosened his tie and tugged off his jacket. The memory of his air-conditioned car was no help at all in the sweltering evening air, and with Renata by his side, Michael knew that the night was going to get hotter yet.
* * *
BY THE TIME she grabbed her most powerful flashlight and locked up the house, Renata felt that she had her feelings pretty much under control. She couldn’t recall saying anything in particular that revealed how very glad she was to see Michael, let alone that she’d thought for one foolish minute that he’d rushed back to Tyler with her grandpa’s old clothes just so he could see her again. Still, there was always the chance that her feelings had shown on her face. If they had, Michael had chosen to ignore her faux pas, and for that she could be grateful.
The porch was empty when she returned to the door. A classy blue BMW was sitting in her gravel driveway with headlights on and engine running. The passenger door had been left open for her, but Michael was already in the car.
Renata slipped inside and put on her seat belt as Michael pulled out of the drive. Her seat was close to his, so close their knees almost touched, but she studiously braced her body at a safe distance. She was entirely too aware of his proximity. She was also aware that Michael was ignoring her. At least, he was ignoring her as a woman. Since he’d arrived this evening, he hadn’t treated her any differently than he would have treated a man.
“Tell me about the back trails from the lodge,” he ordered, his voice throbbing with concern. “Maybe that’s how we missed him last night. He might have spent part of the night in the woods by the lake. I never thought to ask him how he got here.”
“Even if we knew that, we don’t know for sure he’d take the same route again. I’m not certain why you think he’ll come straight back here anyway, Michael,” Renata pointed out. “For some reason he settled under the oak tree in my front yard last night, but don’t you think he might want to check out some other oaks in the area?”
When Michael gave a helpless shrug, his long hair brushed his neck and shoulders. His profile was clean and sharp, stunning in its masculine strength. Renata wondered how he’d look in braids and feathers, then reminded herself that there were some things in life it was better not to find out.
“Frankly, I don’t know what he’ll do. I would have sworn he would never have come over here in the first place. I would have sworn he’d have had enough sense to do his praying under your eaves or inside your barn. And after I read him the riot act this morning, I would have sworn he’d never have pulled such a harebrained stunt again.”
Renata wasn’t sure what to say. Michael was frightened. She could feel his fear. And it wasn’t just fear because his grandfather was missing. It was fear that the old man truly was losing his grip on reality. He might have decided to run away.
“I don’t know what to say, Michael,” she said softly. “I’m sorry.”
Again he shrugged, with frustration this time. “It’s not your fault.”
“I didn’t mean it was. I just...I wish I could do something to help you. To help you both.”
Michael glanced at her, his eyes too dark to read in the twilight. “You already have, Renata. You’ve done more than anybody could have asked of you.” His voice caressed her with embarrassed gratitude. “We have no right to keep showing up on your doorstep. Believe me, if he hadn’t run off again—”
Michael broke off abruptly, as though he suddenly realized what he’d been about to say: You never would have seen me again. It was tactless, but probably true. Renata swallowed hard and looked out the window. She was drawn to this man, but it was obvious that he did not return her interest in him. Some things just weren’t meant to be.
The next half hour was busy but unproductive. Renata showed Michael the shortest way by road to Timberlake Lodge. After circling the main building, he drove through the parking areas while she darted inside to ask if anyone had seen a solitary old man. Edward Wocheck was in the lobby, conferring with his staff in preparation for the next morning’s groundbreaking ceremony, and he took a moment to express his sympathy. He promised Renata that he’d tell his people to be on the lookout for Michael’s grandfather.
When she got back to the car, Michael didn’t touch the door as she opened it and climbed in. Wordlessly he searched her face, then floored the engine when she said, “He hasn’t been here.”
It was a quiet night on the lake. Only one tourist couple was out for an evening stroll. When Michael made a sharp turn, he caught the startled eyes of deer in his headlights. He slowed down until the deer safely crossed the road, but he made no comment as the BMW approached the highway.
He drove in virtual silence for maybe half a mile until Renata said abruptly, “Stop the car.”
Instantly he braked. “Do you see him?” he demanded.
There was a catch in his voice that tugged at Renata. Oh,Michael, a tiny voice inside her whispered, you really do cherish that old man. She felt a sudden jealous ache as she realized how much it would mean to have anybody cherish her with such devotion.
Especially a man as compelling as this one.
“I don’t see anything, but this is the easiest place to catch the back trail to the lodge from the highway,” she explained. “Do you want to come with me or keep driving around while I check it out on foot?”
This time when Michael turned to face Renata, he looked astounded. For the first time since he’d arrived, she had the feeling that he realized a real live person was sitting beside him, not just a faceless local guide.
“You are suggesting that I let you wander through these woods alone at night on the off chance you might find a stranger who was trained in the Winnebago art of hiding?” he asked incredulously.
Renata was touched by his concern, even though she realized that his protest might be an instinctive macho reaction. “I was born here, Michael,” she reminded him. “I know these woods like my own backyard.”
“And that lodge is filled with city people, all strangers,” he retorted. “I’ve got enough on my plate looking for Grand Feather. The last thing I need is to report to Lieutenant Bauer that I’ve lost you, too.”
“Gee, thanks, Michael,” she snapped, not at all appreciating his sharp tone. “I’m sorry I’m such a burden to you.”
He glared at her for a moment, then exhaled a mighty sigh. His dark eyes were intense as he apologized. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I just don’t want you to get hurt because of me or mine.”
“This is Tyler,” she pointed out patiently. “Nobody ever gets hurt walking in the woods.”
“Renata, a woman was killed here! Right here at the lodge!”
“That was forty years ago.” She was surprised that he’d heard about Margaret Ingalls, but since he’d spent a good twelve hours in Brick’s police car last night, he probably had heard everything that had ever happened to anybody in Tyler.
“If they never found the killer, it might as well have been yesterday,” he insisted somewhat irrationally. “Whoever did it might still live near here. How many of the farms around your place have been sold since then?”
“Michael, you don’t honestly think that one of my neighbors—”
“I don’t know your neighbors. I only know you. And I don’t want anything to happen to you.” His voice was low...too low for a casual statement. It caused a strange vibration that sensitized Renata’s ears. She felt herself leaning toward him again; she felt his grip tighten on her hand.
Was it possible that he felt a fraction of what she did when they touched like this? Was there some reason beyond fraternal concern that he was still holding her hand?
“Then I guess you’d better walk back to the lodge with me,” she suggested, not at all averse to taking a moonlit walk around Timber Lake with Michael, especially when he seemed eager to keep her close to him. “I really do think we need to check out the trail.”
This time when Michael’s eyes met hers, Renata saw something she hadn’t noticed before. He was torn. For some reason he was struggling to protect her from something more than Timberlake Lodge’s out-of-town guests...something he hadn’t put into words.
For the first time she wondered if, in some strange way, he was trying to protect her from himself.
* * *
IT WAS AFTER TEN when Renata suggested that they check the house again. They had walked from the road to the lodge, from the lodge to the house and from the house back to the road again. They had listened for the sound of chants; they had watched for any ghost of motion. They had alarmed some Timberlake guests, dislodged one ring-necked pheasant hen and startled a ruffed grouse. Other than that they had seen no one.
The instant Michael pulled into Renata’s driveway, he knew that he was wasting his time. Grand Feather had outfoxed him again. The old man hadn’t sneaked off just to come right back to where Michael had collared him the first time. He was hiding somewhere different this time.
He must be working on a new plan.
“Oh, my God,” Michael said aloud as the implications of that thought crystallized in his mind.
“What?” Renata’s voice echoed his alarm.
“I’m so stupid! I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before!”
“Michael, tell me!”
He shook his head. “Renata, Grand Feather came over here in the first place because of that damn ground-breaking ceremony. He’s going to show up there tomorrow and make a scene. I know it!”
“Oh, Michael.” She didn’t try to tell him he was wrong. “If we go there early, maybe we can stop him.”
Again he shook his head. “I doubt it. The best we can do is try to keep him from getting hurt. He is a stubborn, stubborn old man, Renata. I told you he was not senile. He’s got a mind like a steel trap, and you’d better believe that he’s thought up a plan worthy of a Winnebago chief. Damn it! He’s going to take Edward Wocheck and all the rest of us by surprise.”
Renata took a deep breath, then laid a hand on his arm.
He knew it was meant to be a comforting gesture, but his instantaneous response was anything but platonic. All night he’d been far too aware of the proximity of this terribly appealing female. “If he’s planning something in the morning, he must have planned somewhere to spend the night,” he told her, trying to place some distance between them, at least in his mind. “Unless he’s broken into one of the unoccupied rooms at the lodge, he’s going to take shelter in some other empty place.”
“Why don’t we check the barn?” asked Renata.
It was the best idea he’d heard all night. Quickly he bolted out of the car and followed Renata past the house. A single feeble light bulb announced the barn’s location. It wasn’t more than fifteen yards to the beat-up old building. Although there were no animals inside, it had six large stalls and half a load of moldy hay in the loft.
Michael hurriedly checked every stall and every corner of the tack room while Renata shinnied up to the loft. They met in the center of the barn two minutes later, ready to concede their defeat.
“I’m sorry, Michael,” Renata told him. “It was just an idea.”
“Not a bad one, actually. Do you suppose he might be hiding out in somebody else’s barn around here?”
“He might, but if he is, then he’s already safe for the night,” she assured him. “This time of year he won’t get cold as long as he’s dry. But we could go visit all my neighbors...”
Michael shook his head. “No, it’s too late to get everybody in the county out of bed. Besides, Grand Feather would hear us coming and take off anyway. He’s probably better off in some haymow than he would be chased off into the night.”
Wearily he plopped down on an old milking stool and faced Renata. He felt engulfed by the silence of the empty building. Its lingering scents of leather, hay and horses reminded him of his childhood. After a moment he mused, “There’s something terribly lonely about an abandoned barn.”
Renata seemed to bristle. “I’d hardly call it abandoned, Michael. I still live here.”
“I thought you lived in Milwaukee.”
“Well, I do. At least most of the time. I rent an apartment so I can work there.” She gestured toward the empty stalls. “But my family has lived here since 1840. This will always be my home.”
Michael didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure he wanted to find out just how her family had come to own the land.
“It’s hard to believe I used to spend half of every day out here,” Renata mused, fingering a rein that hung from a harness tacked up on the wall.
Michael studied her in the dim light. God, she was a beauty. So natural, so unfettered. Like a filly in the spring. “You had a horse?”
“I had three.” She grinned at him. “We had chickens and a milk cow, too, when I was little.”
A tired smile crept onto Michael’s face. “A real country girl, huh?”
She chuckled. “I was raised on a farm. What else could I be?”
I was raised in a shack, but it might as well have been a wigwam made of bark or hide, he felt the urge to tell her. But that would open up old memories and new concerns. This wasn’t a date; it was no time to get better acquainted. Renata was a stranger helping him look for his grandfather. That was all.
Seeming to sense his discomfort, Renata prosaically suggested, “I suppose we could check the basement, Michael, if you think he might be able to break a lock or find some other way to sneak inside.”
Michael fought back the urge to ask if she was making assumptions about sneaking Indians, but restrained himself. Renata didn’t deserve that kind of crack. The woman who did was a thousand miles away. She probably didn’t even remember his face anymore. He wished he could forget hers.
“Sure, why not,” he agreed wearily. “I don’t think he’s there, either, but he sure as hell isn’t here.”
Silently he followed Renata back toward the house, taking note of the way her hips swayed just a little bit from side to side. She made no special effort to put on female airs. She was just herself—bold in some ways; in others, understated. Whatever the combination was, it spoke to Michael in some quiet nameless fashion.
With great effort, he turned a deaf ear.
Renata dug a key to the basement out of her pocket and opened the door. There was no indication that anybody had fussed with the lock. When she flipped on the light, Michael was surprised at what he saw. The barn was almost empty, but this protected room was stuffed to the gills with the remnants of a century of farm life. There were stacks of boxes, stacks of lumber, stacks of old paintings crammed together wall to wall. A cat could hide in here for a lifetime, but he didn’t think a human could even squeeze inside. It made his grandfather’s tiny shack seem downright spacious.
“Your family sure doesn’t believe in holding on to things, do they?” Michael teased Renata, surprised that he could come up with a joke.
Renata turned around, her eyes big and happy. For a moment he felt happy, too. Then he remembered what he was doing here.
“I should have taken him back to Sugar Creek this morning,” he said soberly. “I can’t believe I lost him again.”
She took a step toward him. “Your grandfather ran off to feel like a freewheeling adult. You’ve been treating him like a child. I don’t blame you for that,” she assured him. “I understand your obligations. But I don’t blame him, either, Michael. Wouldn’t you hate to be in his position?”
He felt a fresh well of feeling for this white woman who so quickly seemed to grasp the heart of Winnebago ways. She didn’t fully understand what drove his grandfather, but she understood the part of the proud old man that still ached to call his own shots, who was not yet old enough to surrender. Grand Feather was still a warrior, or longed to be. And that would be true for the rest of his days.
Suddenly Renata seemed entirely too close. Michael could smell the soft female scent of her, a blend of paint, shampoo and woman. He tried to step back before it grew intoxicating, but behind him there was a pile of bricks. To either side, there were boxes.
“I’m the only one left,” she said quietly, her eyes looking sadder now. “Each time one of them died, we’d pack up everything because it hurt too much to look at it, but we couldn’t bear to throw their things away.” She gestured toward a giant crate in the corner. “My great-grandmother’s wedding dress is still in there. I always hoped I’d wear it one day.” As she turned toward another box near the steps, her shoulder brushed Michael’s, electrifying his senses. “This is Grandpa’s collection of Indian artifacts. He was so proud of it. I know I ought to donate these old arrowheads and moccasins to a museum, but I just can’t bear to give them away.”
Michael didn’t want to think about Indian artifacts, painful memories of another space and time. He didn’t want to think about Renata, either, or feel touched by her loneliness. He didn’t need to know how many brothers and sisters she’d had or how many extended family members were part of the Meyer clan. The bottom line was that Renata was all alone now, and despite her spunk and cheery nature, the emptiness wore on her from time to time.
He was sorry he’d made her come down to this sad room.
He was also sorry that he was trapped so close to her, close enough to smell that clean womanly scent again. Close enough to kiss. Close enough to reach out and slip an arm around her waist to offer comfort and...whatever followed.
It was one of those moments when a man and woman find themselves alone together and they both know that it’s time for something intimate to happen. Michael suddenly wanted very much to kiss Renata. He was sure it was what she wanted, too.
“I’m going about this all wrong,” he said abruptly, desperately hoping that his panic wasn’t evident in his voice. He had to get away from her, had to break the mood before he did something he would surely regret. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he had no choice. “I’ve been thinking what I’d do,” he babbled quickly. “I’ve been thinking white.”
Renata licked her lips. Her eyes could not entirely conceal her disappointment, but she discreetly stepped away. “You need to think Winnebago?” she asked, as though the tender near-miss had not just happened.
He nodded, grateful for her tact. And surprised that this confession did not embarrass him as much as it would have just this morning.
“Do you still know how?”
He’d hoped she wouldn’t ask him that. Now that she had, he found himself unable to tell her anything but the truth.
“I can when I really work at it, but it’s a challenge when I’m hungry and wearing a suit and it’s the end of a long day.”
Renata gave him the sort of smile a hardworking man gives up bachelorhood to come home to. “I can find some more of Grandpa’s old clothes to fit you, Michael,” she offered, “and I can drum up something for you to eat, too. I went to the store today, so it ought to be an improvement over breakfast.”
