You're the One That I Want (30 page)

“You . . . did?” Her voice filled with something he’d call . . . hope?

“Yep. Right after I told them that I’d never marry Raina and that this dog wasn’t out of the hunt for Casper’s innocence. Not yet. It’s not over until it’s over.”

“That sounds a little like ‘We’re not dead till we’re dead.’” A tentative smile broke through her expression.

So much for holding back his emotions. “Wow, I love you. You’re the one
 
—the only one
 
—I want. Please don’t run away. Because I’ll only have to chase after you.”

She tucked her hair behind her ear, looked down at her lap as if embarrassed.

And because he’d already gone this far, already taken his heart from his chest and handed it over . . . “Do you love me?”

She swallowed, her breath shaky.

Please, Scotty, don’t be afraid.

She looked up and the words filled her beautiful eyes. “I love you so much it terrifies me. I was driving away and . . . I couldn’t. I got to this sign and my brain said to keep going . . .”

“But your heart said stop,” he said softly. “Aw, Scotty, look at that, breaking the rules for love.”

“Stop it.”

Not on her life. Because as he traced the vulnerability in her
expression, it ignited that hot ball of emotion he’d wadded in his chest.

He reached for her, curled his hand around her neck, and pulled her close. He let his touch be sweet, despite the fact that he wanted to crush her to himself, never let her go. But perhaps showing her that he could be slow, gentle, not so passionate as to scare her away
 
—

Scotty grabbed his lapels and kissed him back, her touch so overflowing with emotion that he lost himself in the rush of wanting her, loving her.

By the time he lifted his head, she was over the center console, in his lap
 
—he’d pushed back the lever on the seat, giving her room to put her arms around his neck, his around her waist.

A car drove by, honked.

Owen pulled away, his heart pounding, keenly aware of the taste of her on his lips, the smell of her filling his brain.

Her face reddened.

He laughed. “Oh, Scotty. Just when I needed you to put the brakes on . . .”

And there was her beautiful smile.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself there, Eye Patch.” She climbed back to her side of the car. “It’s your own fault for being so irresistible.”

“Irresistible, huh?”

Suddenly her smile dimmed.

“What?” He fought a spurt of panic. “Did I say something wrong?”

She shook her head, her eyes alight. “Not this time. Because I think I know who killed Monte Riggs.”

“I
THINK WE NEED TO TAKE ANOTHER LOOK
at Signe Netterlund.”

Scotty’s words seemed to jerk through Owen, who simply stared at her. Cars whizzed by them on the way out of town, the morning bright, the sunshine drying the wet highway and turning the leaves to gold and copper along the ditch.

Poor man. She had been almost inhaling him moments earlier, losing herself completely in his words.

You’re the one
 
—the only one
 
—I want. Please don’t run away. Because I’ll only have to chase after you.

Wouldn’t that be a kick
 
—Owen Christiansen chasing her? Back to Anchorage?

Because hello
 
—so what if he loved her? What now? Did she give up her job in Alaska? Become a small-town cop in Deep Haven?

She couldn’t think about it. Not yet.

“What about Signe?”

“It was what she said about Monte thinking he was irresistible to women.”

“Are you comparing me to
Mont
e
?”

“Hardly. But then she said she wasn’t surprised. And that if he was dead, it was his own fault. That he never knew how to treat a girl right.”

“He didn’t.”

“Did you not hear her? She said that someone ‘probably beat him up and left him for dead in the woods.’ According to the coroner’s report, he had broken ribs, consistent with the reports of the fight, and a fractured skull
 
—as if someone hit him on the head. But the first report said he died of exposure. That conversation has been itching at me. This town is small. How could she not know about Monte’s death?”

“Unless she did and was trying to pretend she didn’t.”

“And if they printed his cause of death as exposure in the paper, then Signe’s ‘guess’ seems a little too close to the truth.”

He frowned at her. “You think something happened between Signe and Monte?”

“She was very vague about how she lost that necklace. I think we need to have another chat with her.”

Owen already had the car in drive, turning a U-ie. They headed back to town, stopped in front of the VFW.

“It looks closed,” Scotty said.

“Your point?” He got out, came around, and reached for her hand.

She debated a moment, then slid it into his.

Apparently he meant his words about not letting her go.

He pulled her around to the back of the building. “Dugan Schmitt is head cook, and his kid played hockey, just a couple years older than me. We’d go to practice early in the morning, and when we were finished, we’d come down here and Schmitty would fix us up with flapjacks.” He found the back door, buttressed with cardboard boxes and a Dumpster, and pulled it open.

The smells of burgers, french fries, and beer that embedded the walls could make a girl’s empty stomach roar to life.

“Schmitty?” Owen called.

It was like old home week again as the cook came out of an office. A blond Swede, lean but for a pouch where he kept his extra burgers, his narrow face pocked with a lifetime in front of a grill. He extended his hand. “Anders would be glad to know you’re back. He’s coming home for Thanksgiving.”

“Tell him to give me a call. If I’m in town, we’ll slap the puck around.”

If he was in town?

“You looking for some breakfast?” Schmitty reached for an apron, but Owen shook his head.

Shoot. She might not argue with breakfast.

And the thought made her smile
 
—when did she turn into a Christiansen?

“I’m looking for Signe Netterlund. I need to talk to her.”

Schmitty walked over to the schedule posted on the wall. “She starts her shift at one.”

Owen pulled a cell phone from his sweatshirt pocket. “Signe gave me her number, but I don’t have it with me
 
—this is my brother-in-law’s phone. Do you have a number for her?”

Schmitty rattled it off but added, “She doesn’t always answer
 
—doesn’t get reception out at her place.”

“She doesn’t live in town?” Scotty asked, wishing she’d taken the time to pick up a new phone.

Owen dialed, put the phone to his ear.

“She’s staying at her parents’ place.”

Owen hung up. “Voice mail. Thanks, Schmitty.” He pulled Scotty out to the parking lot.

“What
 
—?”

He pointed at her, grinning. “You’re so smart.” Then he took off in a jog for the car.

She jogged after him. “I thought you were still wounded!”

“Feeling much better!”

She got in as he fired up the car. “I don’t get it.”

“You will.”

He drove them out of town toward Evergreen Resort.

Scotty braced herself. She didn’t want to see his family again, not yet. Because how would she possibly apologize for sending Casper back to jail?

Thankfully, Owen didn’t stop at the resort but kept driving down the road past their entrance. “It’s just a ways up here.”

“What is?”

“The scene of the crime.”

Owen pulled into a gravel lot, littered with branches and leaves but otherwise empty. His expression fell. “Shoot, I thought we’d find Signe’s car here.”

She frowned.

“Get out; I’ll show you.”

The scent of evergreen filled the air along the loamy path they took into the woods. They’d gone maybe fifty yards when it split. “Signe’s parents’ cabin is one of the grandfathered properties overlooking Twin Pine Lake. If you follow this path, there is a cluster of
them
 
—everyone knows about it because the government wanted to buy them out and tear the cabins down to keep the BWCA pristine, but the residents banded together and won.”

“So you’re saying Signe lives down this path.”

“And this one leads to . . .” He took her hand again and walked her another twenty or so yards to where the forest opened into a large clearing.

“A blueberry patch.”

A gorgeous swath of land, tangled with blueberry bushes and downed trees, but overlooking a glorious blue lake, foamy with whitecaps as the October wind raked it.

“Twin Pine Lake. Where Monte Riggs died . . . and just a stone’s throw from Signe’s cabin,” Scotty said quietly.

He didn’t let go of her hand as he started weaving through the clearing. “My mother loves to pick blueberries here. But there are rules about where we can pick because . . .” He stopped short and tightened his grip on her hand. “Careful.”

A crack in the earth opened to a chasm before them. It widened toward the end of the overlook. “If I understand my dad’s explanation of where they found Monte’s body, it was right around here.”

She turned, gauging the distance to the cutoff. “If someone was coming up this path at night, it wouldn’t be hard to miss that cutoff, end up in the clearing.”

“And if you don’t know about the ravine, then
 
—”

“No wonder your mother had rules.”

“I hear rules keep you alive.”

She wanted to stop right there and kiss him again under the arch of the blue sky.

Instead, she let go of his hand, walked out into the clearing, stared at the lake. “Let’s say Monte got here on his own. Working
with the connection of Signe’s family’s cabin, the necklace, and the fact that Monte had it on him in the ravine, maybe he came up here to see Signe.”

She heard Owen behind her, crunching through the brush, then quiet as he sat on a boulder. “Do you think he and Signe were dating?”

“What I think is that there’s a lot more to her story. She sounded almost . . . angry, even hurt.” Or how Scotty might have sounded a week from now, had she gone back to Alaska, her heart in pieces.

Owen who? Oh, he didn’t mean his proposal. Just wanted a quick fling. The charmer he is, he can’t be trusted with a woman’s heart.
Words to mask the deep well of hurt she’d carry if she left. And really, how could she leave the guy sitting on the rock, one leg propped up as he surveyed the lake? With his beard, his work jacket, his hiking boots, he looked like he belonged on an “Alaskan Men” calendar.

Then he smiled at her, full wattage, so warm she might turn into a puddle.

“What?”

“I’m just thinking of you standing at the helm of your own boat.”

He got up, came over to her, and it felt a little like watching a grizzly move in his own environment. Big. Graceful. Then his hands landed on her shoulders, his gaze latching on to her. “I have money. What if we bought your dad’s boat? What if we . . . became partners?”

His words swept through her, engulfing her. “I . . . Owen. What about your life here? You can’t leave again. And you have Layla.” She shook her head, breaking free of the delicious, glorious possibility, and stepped out of his embrace. “Let’s just . . . figure out how to get Casper free. Then we can
 
—”

“Plan for the future? Get married?”

“Oh no
 
—not this again.”

“Don’t make me get on one knee.”

“Owen! Stop it.”

“Why? Because the idea of living happily ever after is too big? Too amazing? And yeah, there is Layla, but we can figure that out too.”

His mouth closed, and shoot, the wind in her eyes made them burn. “No. We just don’t have room for your crazy future in our lives
 
—not right now.” She breathed out, then brushed past him on the way back to the road.

He caught up with her, cut in front of her, his hands on her shoulders again. “Stop
 
—”

“No. Owen, you’re way too far out into never-never land here. Let’s just stick to today’s task
 
—clearing Casper. We don’t know if we can prove any of this, and if we can’t and Casper goes to jail, then Raina will need you
 
—”

“I have faith, Scotty. This is going to work out.”

“Yeah, a wild, too-hopeful faith.”

He’d stepped close, wrapped his arms around her waist, pulled her against him. “You need to get used to the fact that you’re in this now. A part of the messy, loud, overcaring bunch of us. And we believe in the happy ending.”

Oh
 
—

His kiss was short, sweet. “Listen,” he said softly, his voice sending tenderness through her. “I know you’re not ready for anything impulsive, but there
is
a proposal in your future. We will live happily ever after. Believe it.”

He took her hand, headed back to the car, and oh, she wanted to just fall into step.

To have faith.

They got into the car, and he pulled out the phone. “Eden texted me
 
—she must have figured out I had Jace’s phone
 
—and reminded me the hearing is starting in a half hour. I gotta get to the courthouse.”

“I’ll drop you off at the resort. I’m going to track down Signe.”

He put the car into drive. “I should go with you.”

“No, you should go with your family. Besides, if Signe is going to talk to me, she has to do it without trying to flirt with you.”

“She’s not
 
—”

“Have a little faith, Owen.”

He glanced at her; then the smidgen of a wry smile appeared. “Yes, sir.”

Scotty laughed, but his response lingered even after she dropped him off at the resort.

We will live happily ever after. Believe it.

Maybe.

She headed down to the VFW.

The Open sign had been flipped over, the bar already hosting a few flannel-shirted regulars. Scotty walked in casually and spied Signe tying on her apron, her blonde hair up in a messy bun. Skinny, shapely, and yet something in her eyes . . .

Sadness?

Signe broadcast a smile for the patrons as she entered the bar area, touching one of them on the shoulder, laughing with another. But her smile was . . . wary, maybe?

Especially when her gaze landed on Scotty.

“Hi, Signe. I was wondering if you had a second to chat.”

Her friendly demeanor vanished. “About what?”

Scotty had debated the entire drive over about how to frame her conversation, how she might start with the facts of the case, then
move on to Signe’s cabin, the scenario she’d cooked up with Owen. Maybe end with a question about her whereabouts that night.

But a cool wall of suspicion in Signe’s eyes had her regrouping. Maybe it was time to chuck the rules and have a woman-to-woman chat. To tap into Signe’s emotions by confessing her own.

“It’s not easy living way up here, is it? It reminds me of where I grew up in Alaska, a tiny town called Homer. Everyone knows everyone, but sometimes that’s not a great thing, huh?”

Signe frowned. “Can I get you some water?”

For Scotty’s suddenly parched throat? “Yes.”

Signe took a glass from the shelf, scooped in ice, filled it with water, and set the glass on a napkin.

“In Homer, there’s maybe a handful of guys to date. And once you’ve sort of ruled them out, then . . . there’s no one else.”

Signe glanced at the fellas at the bar, most of them retired, a couple who might be trying to forget their mistakes in a beer. “You probably nabbed the last eligible bachelor in Deep Haven.” She looked back at Scotty. “Not that I’m trying to edge in.”

“No. Of course not. But the truth is, it’s better to have no man than the wrong man, right?”