Part 14 (2/2)
Less than an hour after he'd arrived, he packed up his tools, walked out of the cabin, and relocked the door behind him. He stepped into his boots and after making certain the porch looked undisturbed, backed out within his original footsteps, using the hemlock branch to sweep them away. But if she returned in the next few hours, and there wasn't enough time for the snowfall to obliterate the tracks, Anne-Marie would realize someone had been at her cabin and she'd bolt again. However, he was betting on the snowfall and her s.h.i.+ft at the diner keeping her busy until long after his tracks had disappeared. His plan was far from foolproof, but it was the best he had.
At the edge of the woods, he traded his snowshoes for skis and again whisked away his tracks with the branch until he was a hundred yards or so into the forest. Then he took off, skiing rapidly next to his own ruts and reaching his truck quickly. He threw his gear into the bed of his Dodge, turned the pickup around, and drove to the main road where he stopped to re-latch the gate. Thankfully no one drove by as he was securing the place, and he only hoped that Anne-Marie didn't miss her turn-off and happen to drive past this lane as she might notice that the snow had been disturbed.
If so, she'd run like a rabbit.
But this time, he'd be right on her tail.
Chapter 14.
”You're getting married? Like, soon?” Jeremy asked, dumbstruck. He was pulling a carton of orange juice out of the refrigerator.
”In the next couple weeks.”
”Why?” Bianca had come out of her room at her mother's request and was as sh.e.l.l-shocked as her brother. ”You can't.”
”Why not?”
”But . . . but . . . is he going to live here? Because I'm not moving!” Her little face was set and she tossed her dark curls away from her face. Blue eyes thinned suspiciously. ”Why now?”
Here came the lie. At least a partial lie. ”Because life is short. That really came home to roost this past week or so.”
Jeremy let the refrigerator door close. ”Because of Sheriff Grayson.” He took a big swallow from the carton.
”Gla.s.s, please,” Pescoli said automatically.
”Don't talk about that. Too depressing,” Bianca said with a shudder. She was dressed in skinny jeans and a sweater that hung off one shoulder, showing the strap of her black bra.
”It is depressing,” Pescoli agreed.
”You're getting married and he's moving in here?” Bianca flounced into a kitchen chair. ”This sucks.”
”No one's moving anywhere yet. Santana and I haven't even talked about that part yet. We just decided the other night. We're planning on going to Vegas in a week or so. Depending.”
”Are we, like, invited?” Bianca asked, her ears perking up at the mention of Sin City.
”I haven't got that far yet.”
”It's your wedding, Mom!” her daughter declared.
”My third wedding. Not to put too fine a point on it.”
”Well, it wasn't like I could go to either one of the first two because I wasn't born yet,” Bianca said. ”Jeremy got to be there when you married Dad.”
”He was a toddler,” Pescoli said at the same time Jeremy drawled, ”Like I remember it.”
Bianca lifted a shoulder and had to adjust the wide neck of her sweater. ”Maybe it would, you know, make it suck less, if we were there.”
”I'm not going to be blackmailed into this,” Pescoli said. ”If I decide it's the right thing to do, then we'll work it out. As I said, we'll all move in together once the new house is ready.” She thought of the construction. ”It'll be awhile yet. At least a month, maybe two, but probably three. It's not as if you haven't been expecting this. Haven't I been telling you to go through your things and start thinking about moving? How far have we gotten with that?”
”I'm not moving there.” Jeremy finished off the juice and crushed the carton in one hand. ”I'll get my own place.”
”Good. I'll live with you,” Bianca announced.
”Yeah, right,” Pescoli said dryly.
”I'm almost seventeen!”
”Precisely.”
”You just don't care what I want,” Bianca huffed.
Refusing to be baited, Pescoli nodded. ”That's right. I've never put your needs before mine in the last sixteen years.”
”You don't understand!”
”Probably not.”
”Do you know you're like . . . impossible?” Bianca charged, so angry she was nearly spitting, ”It really doesn't matter because I'm moving in with Dad and Mich.e.l.le. They want me.”
Pescoli just looked at her daughter. They'd had this argument before. Dozens of times, Bianca had angrily threatened to move out and live with Lucky and his second wife. Though the hot argument always ripped out Pescoli's heart, she'd learned to play it cool and keep her reactions to a minimum. ”I think you should give living with Santana and me a chance. You could love it.”
Bianca rolled her eyes. ”Mom, I don't like him and I never will, okay? So don't get this super romantic idea that we're going to live like some big loving, blended family.”
Pescoli slid a look at her son, who was leaning against the breakfast bar that separated the kitchen from the eating area. ”I thought you might want to live in the apartment over the garage. Well, it's not really an apartment with all the bells and whistles, but it's big, kind of a bonus room with its own bath. If you wanted, you could take in a microwave and minifridge. It even has its own separate entrance.”
Jeremy asked, ”That's cool with Santana?”
”It will be.”
”I thought you said it was going to be his office.”
Pescoli lifted a shoulder because she wasn't really certain. ”We can move things around. Besides, it wouldn't be forever.”
”If Jer doesn't want it, I'll take it,” Bianca said, seizing what she perceived as a prime opportunity to a.s.sert her independence.
”How would that work? You'd commute from Lucky and Mich.e.l.le's?” Pescoli asked.
Bianca glared at her mother. ”I'd live there, as you well know. In the apartment over the garage.”
Pescoli shook her head. ”But not for a few years.”
”That's just not fair!” Bianca actually stomped a bare foot and marched back to her room, slamming her door behind her.
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