Chapter 28
Adam
“It wasn’t that bad,” I reassure Stevie.
She’s apologizing for her mom while I gather memory cards from my cameras. I don’t mind having company on the trail this morning, and I like having Stevie to myself. She’s multitasking—her focus is trained on the foggy woods—but she’s also holding my hand.
She squeezes my fingers. “You only think that because you don’t know my mom. She’s subtle with her matchmaking.”
“You sure about that?” I ask with a chuckle. The woman is as subtle as a neon sign that reads “You are currently on a date, and you’re going to like it.”
After we finished our whoopie pies last night, Inger dragged her husband out of the living room for some made-up reason, leaving me alone with her daughter for half an episode of Seinfeld.
It would’ve been painfully uncomfortable, except I was with Stevie.
I got to sneak a kiss, and my covert girlfriend pretended to shove me away.
I’m pleasantly surprised by how not uncomfortable the evening was.
Stevie runs her free hand down her face. “My mom is relentless when she gets something in her head.”
“Is she?” I pretend to be surprised, swinging our arms between us playfully. “Sounds familiar.”
Stevie tries to bump me off the trail with her hip.
With a laugh, I pull her back against my side while we hike.
“Last night was nice.” It was the closest I’ve felt to being at home since I moved to Maine.
I love the solitude of my cabin, but I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed the feeling of being around my family.
Stevie’s parents’ home felt like that—even down to the Seinfeld rerun. “And I really like your dad.”
“Isn’t he great?” Stevie glows when she talks about him. “You two are cut from the same cloth. My dad was having the time of his life last night.” Devious light fills her eyes, and she adds, “Unfortunately for my mom.”
My heart swells. Stevie reveres her dad, and her words make me feel taller. Being cut from the same cloth as the man she loves has to be a good thing, right? Is this what it would feel like to be loved by her?
I swallow.
“Stevie?” My voice is hoarse.
“Huh?” She’s distracted by the view, as usual. Her red hair swings against her back in a ponytail while she hikes.
I change course, leading her into the trees. I don’t know why. We’re alone out here. Not many people come into the preserve at sunrise in the middle of the week, only people who work here and people who are on the lookout for sasquatch.
“Where are we going?” she asks with laughter in her voice. I think she knows what I’m doing.
I pull her against the trunk of a tall white pine tree, looking down into her eyes. “I like your family, Stevie.”
Her pink lips curl. “Yeah?”
I nod.
“They like you, too.” She rests her hand on my chest.
I squeeze my eyes shut. “And I like you.” I stop myself before I say more.
“I know,” she murmurs.
My eyes pop open, and I chuckle with surprise. I love her self-assurance. She knows what she knows—even if sometimes she’s wrong about what she thinks she knows. I’m starting to appreciate the crazy, headstrong side of her. Well, she’s not wrong this time. There’s more, though.
I bend down, more than ready to steal another kiss from her. I need to ask her a question first, though, and I’m nervous. “I want to go on a real date with you.” That wasn’t a question, Adam. Get it together. “Can I take you out on an actual date?”
Her bright eyes twinkle up at me. “Watching my dad shovel shepherd’s pie into his mouth like a claw excavator doesn’t count?”
I shake my head. “No,” I murmur. She’s so cute it hurts to look at her.
I swallow. Why is it so hard for me to say what I want to say?
I want to show her how I’m going to treat her when this stupid bet is over and we can be honest about what we are.
A hundred thoughts and feelings are bottlenecked in my head.
The only thing that comes out is, “When I take you on a real date, you’ll know it. ”
“You’re in luck.” She smiles. “This is a bye week. Marlow and Diana couldn’t find anyone to set me up with.”
The information combined with Stevie’s look of relief gives me courage. “Can I take you out on Friday night?”
“I’d love that.” Her cheeks turn pink. “But no one can see us together. How are we going to—”
I pull her closer. “I’ve got this.” I’ve been subconsciously planning this nonstop since the conversation about our hypothetical anniversary date. “That’s a yes?”
She licks her lips, tugging me toward her. “It’s a ‘what took you so long?’”
Just when I’m about to close the distance between us, something snaps behind me in the trees.
I straighten, spinning toward the source of the sound and scanning the woods.
Oh, brother.
Only a few dozen feet away from us someone is crouched in the bushes wearing a low-budget ghillie suit. Not all camouflage clothing is created equal. Mine is top-of-the-line and allows me to blend into the underbrush seamlessly. This guy is wearing the pelt of Oscar the Grouch. Respectfully.
How did I miss him?
Well, I know how. I was distracted by Stevie and her bouncing red ponytail.
Oscar the Grouch clears his throat, holding up both hands like he’s demonstrating that he comes in peace—except there’s a rifle in his right hand.
Stevie sucks in a breath, throwing her hands over her heart. “Oh my—”
“It’s okay,” whoever it is calls. Then he seems to realize he’s holding a gun in the air. “Oh! Sorry!” He lowers it, then pulls the thick, shrubby hood off his head.
The guy looks familiar, but I can’t place him. And he’s clearly hunting in the preserve. Nothing is in season right now. Is this my poacher? He might not be my poacher, but he’s certainly a poacher.
“What are you doing out here?” I start to move closer but turn back to Stevie, lowering my voice. “Could you stay back for a minute? Just until—”
She nods over and over, wide eyed, like she wants to stay far away from the gun-toting stranger.
“I was raised around hunters,” I murmur. I don’t want her to worry. I run a hand down her arm. “I’m sure this guy is harmless, okay? Besides, you could handle him.” I imitate her karate hands, and she shoves me away with a shaky laugh.
I wink at her, turning for the poacher with a sigh of relief. I don’t want Stevie to be scared, but I want her at a safe distance while I handle this guy. He’s already moving my direction, though.
“I saw that you put up cameras,” he calls.
I underestimated him. Is it judgmental of me to assume that a man who dresses like Oscar the Grouch to hunt wouldn’t notice my cameras?
“Have you had any luck?” he asks when he stops in front of me.
Where do I know this guy from? I still can’t place him. He’s middle aged, with receding blonde hair. I don’t know many people in the county, but I recognize him.
“Any luck with what?” I wait for him to fill in the blank. I mean, he’s the reason I installed the cameras. I finally got my guy. He probably assumes I’m also hunting out of season, though.
“The tom.” He props the barrel of his rifle on his shoulder. “You know, the giant turkey that—”
“Oh.” I cut him off in surprise. Of course he’s out here to get the prized terrorist turkey of the Biddeford Forest Preserve. Everyone who spends time out here wants a piece of that bird. “No.”
He frowns into the trees.
I purse my lips, considering how to handle this guy.
“Here’s the thing. Turkey season ended weeks ago.
” I continue to explain the hunting laws of the state of Maine, which this guy should already know.
I don’t want to tell him that he could be ticketed and lose his hunting license if I turn him in to the game warden.
As much as I don’t want him poaching—or leaving trash in the woods—I don’t enjoy this part of my job. I hem and haw around what I need to say. Where’s all the fire I’ve felt about this guy for the past few weeks? Something about his low-budget ghillie suit makes me have pity for him.
Before I say what I have to say, Stevie comes up behind me, holding out her hand for this random guy to shake. “How are ya?”
So much for keeping her safely away from the man with a gun.
“Good.” He holds out a shaggy hand. “I’m Greg.”
Stevie’s smile is like a sunbeam through the trees. “Whatcha doing this morning?”
“There’s a monster turkey around here.” He jostles his gun. “It attacked my daughter a while back.”
Ah. That’s how I know this guy. His daughter was the little girl who got trampled by Butterballsy. Everything makes sense. He isn’t trying to bag a trophy turkey out of season. He wants justice. This changes things.
“Ah.” Stevie grins. “Vigilante justice. I like it,” she says with a satisfied gleam in her eyes. “Yeah, I’ve had a few run-ins with that thug. He’s a monster. Have you had any luck?”
What? No, Stevie. I’m all for vigilante justice, but I need her to discourage Greg from poaching. There are legal ways to deter a giant bird—not that I wouldn’t shoot him myself if the opportunity presented itself.
I have to clear up some things before Stevie suits up and helps him. “Listen—”
“No luck today,” Greg answers at the same time. “I haven’t been out here as much as I need to with work and all, but now . . .” He kicks a pebble into the grass.
“Now . . . ?” Stevie asks.
She’s a nosy little thing. Usually it’s part of her charm, but this time I need to jump in. The underlying desperation on Greg’s face stops me, though.
“I got laid off.” He won’t quite look at either of us. “I’ve got all the time in the world . . . now.” There’s an angry edge in his puff of laughter.
Stevie’s mouth hangs open. “I’m so sorry,” she says, like she didn’t just meet this guy.
“It’s all good.” He kicks another loose rock at his feet. The man is like a storm cloud trapped in a bottle. “Something will turn up. Until then, I just—”
I frown. This guy is going through it, and I understand why he’s doing what he’s doing. The last thing he needs is to be arrested by a game warden, though. “Listen, you can’t—”
“Say no more.” Stevie butts in, holding up a hand and shaking her head. “We totally get it.” She loops her hand around my arm, tugging me away. “Anyway, we gotta run. Be safe out here.”
Stevie drags me toward the trail with all of her weight, but I need to talk to this guy. Now.
“Hang on.” I peel her hand off my arm. “Give me just a minute,” I murmur with a gentle smile.
“Adam, please don’t,” she begs softly.
“Trust me.” I wink.
Stevie’s freckled cheeks flush. “Okay.”
I turn back to Greg, whose unnaturally green ghillie suit is never going to do its job. I lower my voice to protect his ego. “Here’s the thing. I hate that turkey as much as you do. I can’t turn a blind eye to poaching, though.” Even though I want to poach that stupid bird myself. “I can’t, man.”
“I know, I know.” Greg runs a hand over his forehead. “Do whatever you gotta do.” The frustration in his tone tells me to turn him in because things couldn’t get much worse. His Oscar the Grouch costume suits him at the moment.
“I’m not going to do anything just yet.” I clear my throat. “But I think we can work together.”