Wounded (a mystery and a sweet romance)

Wounded: Chapter 8

That evening, Tara climbed up the steps to the cabin early, before six p.m. If Malcolm was the one who had been snooping around on the property, leaving mauled chicken carcasses on porches, she didn’t want to get stuck at his place after dark. All afternoon, she had been debating over whether to come at all. She wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, but couldn’t help fearing she was being a fool, and that she had been one all along, snooping into his life and spending time alone with him. But now that he’d... softened up toward her, or had seemed to, it was hard to imagine simply ignoring his invitation and not seeing him again. That morning... he hadn’t been charming exactly, but he had been appealing. Or maybe it had been the notion of this damaged soul needing... What? A friend? A lover? Tara snorted at herself. Maybe it was just his handsome face and nice body, and the fact that she had found a way to pique his interest.

Of course, that interest might all be a ruse. He might see her as a way to get access to those trees and whatever was so special about them. Some valuable mushroom growing amidst their roots? Something that could be worth far more than anything he would make selling ebooks? She shook her head at the notion. She had read the material in his grandmother’s binder, and there hadn’t been a mention of anything that valuable. Sure, some people followed the mushrooms across the Pacific Northwest, picking them to sell, but not usually skilled professionals who could get good-paying white collar jobs. She could see the freedom and the outdoors aspect appealing to some, but it wasn’t a way to get rich. Even the fabled truffles weren’t worth that much, not the ones that grew in Oregon and Washington. An Internet business would be a much more reliable way to make a living, and he had a good niche that could be exploited. She had laid out the perfect plan for him. Surely, he would see that as a more appealing way to pay off those back taxes.

Except... someone had dropped that book out there. And if not him, who?

“You won’t find out standing here,” Tara muttered and knocked on the door.

It opened promptly. He had to have been standing on the other side, wondering why she was taking so long to knock. Thus to properly assess your potential of having a felonious nature, she thought, trying not to flush with guilt. Though uneasy, she offered a smile and a wave.

Malcolm nodded to her, but glanced toward the sky. For once, the sun was actually out—was that his way of checking the time?

“I, uh, thought I’d come early,” she said, remembering his line from that morning, “and leave early, before... wolves and other critters are about on the property.” She waved in the direction of the village, though the distance and foliage hid any sign of it from view. “I didn’t want to get eaten on the way home in the dark.”

“I can walk you home, if that’s a concern.” His lips twitched. “Or at least to your property line.”

“Ah... thank you.”

Tara couldn’t think of a way to say she was more concerned about being alone with him after dark. Or she ought to be anyway. As she studied him standing in the doorway, she had a hard time mustering up fear. He wore the same well-used boots as that morning, but he had changed into brown pants and a knit shirt that fit nicely. Tara found herself wishing she’d had a nicer outfit than jeans and a blouse to wear. When she had packed for this trip, she had expected to be shoveling compost into gardens and mucking out pigpens, not meeting men for dinners.

“Do you want to come in?” Malcolm stepped aside and extended his arm toward the cabin’s interior.

“That might be nice. I didn’t notice an outdoor eating area set up on the lanai here.”

“Lanai.” Malcolm eyed the tiny deck. It aspired to claim eight square feet. “Right.”

“You don’t like to dine outdoors?” Tara stepped inside, casually turning toward the bookcase, wanting to check out the collection of mushroom books, specifically to see if there might be a curious gap in the middle.