Chapter 36 Louise
LOUISE
The house was warm, the sunrise framed in the sweeping windows overlooking white pastures. I pulled out my camera and took a few pictures as Ryder made the coffee.
“I’m going to get my laptop to download these. Be right back.”
I jogged to the bedroom and pulled out my laptop. By the time I returned, the house smelled like fresh coffee.
Ryder pulled down two mugs. “How do you take your coffee?”
“I’ll give you two guesses.”
“Lard and sugar cane?”
“And sprinkles.”
He smiled. Smiled.
There it was. And it was magnificent.
I smiled back. He had dimples too. As if he needed anything else to be sexier. The guy could wreck a woman with only a glance.
He retrieved a small container from the fridge, poured a dash in the coffee, then something else I couldn’t see from my angle. He handed me the mug, his gaze lingering as I sipped.
My brows arched. “It’s good.”
The corner of his lip curled with satisfaction.
“What’s in it?”
“Vanilla almond milk and honey.”
“Healthy and healthy.”
“Always.” He sipped his coffee. “Okay, the agenda for the day.”
He leaned against the counter while I settled into the breakfast nook. Space.
“First,” he said, “we’ll get your car out and get it to Frankie.”
“I thought you said they’ll tow it?”
“We’ll do it.”
I smiled. “Thank you. Really.”
He dipped his chin.
“Will he have a rental for me to use while he fixes it?” I asked as I powered up my computer.
“Doubt it. You can use one of my trucks. The visors work in all of them.”
“My lucky day. What’s your internet password?”
“Bobcats99.”
“Really? I expected a seventeen-digit code from you.”
“It’s my high school football number.”
“You played football?”
“High school and college. Berry Springs Bobcats, number ninety-nine.”
“Wow.”
“What?”
“Kind of surprises me.”
“Why?”
“Well, you’re built like an ox, so I get that, but football’s a team sport. Social. You don’t exactly scream ‘team player.’”
Ryder looked out the window, again lost in thoughts that I wondered if I’d ever learn about.
“Anyway,” I said, trying to clear the air that had clouded all of a sudden. “Okay, car towed. Then I’ll find a hotel room, and then I’m going to head to Hollow Hill again.”
Frowning, he refocused on me. “You’re going back?”
“Investigating Kara’s murder is the entire reason I’m here. So, yeah, I’m going back.”
“You’re not going back to Hollow Hill.”
“I can drive in the snow. I promise.”
“Can you?”
“The working visor will make all the difference.”
His brows slammed down. “This isn’t a joke. You’re not going back.”
“I am going back. And why not?”
“You’re not going alone to the last place Kara was known to be before getting brutally raped and murdered. Why do you need to go back anyway? You already went. Leave this to the cops.”
“If I’m stuck here, I’m going to make myself useful.” My eyes narrowed. “I’m not asking for permission here, Ryder. You can keep your truck, if that’s what this is about. I’ll find another way to get there.”
Scowling, I clicked into the pictures. I didn’t hear him but could feel him behind me.
“Did you take all these pictures?”
I stopped scrolling, images from my last trek across Yellowstone Park filling the screen. “I did.”
He zeroed in on the sunset, electric colors blazing over jagged peaks. “You’re very talented.”
“I’d better be. I own my own photography business.”
“You do?”
“Believe it or not, yes. Sloane’s Stills, at your service.”
“Ah, that’s why you named your car Ansel Adams.”
“Just Ansel.”
“Stop.”
I lifted my finger from the scroll.
“I like that one,” he said. “I want it.”
“This one?”
“Yeah.”
I enlarged an image of an animal skull on dusty ground. Soaring copper cliffs touched the stars behind it. I remembered taking that picture right at twilight. The last of that day.
“And I want it framed,” he said.
I grinned. “It’ll cost you.”
“Name the price.”
My head tilted to the side. “Another batch of hush puppies.”
“Done.”
He pushed my hand away and took over the control pad, slowly scrolling through my pictures. Instead of being self-conscious, I was proud. I was good at what I did, and I knew it.
After a few minutes, I resumed control and scrolled through the images I’d taken since being in Berry Springs.
Ryder’s hand closed over mine, and I stopped scrolling. He pushed my hand away and enlarged an image. It was the one I’d taken of him fishing before he’d invited me back to his house. The one where he looked so sad and tortured, while gazing into the mountains.
Instead of giving me grief for lying about taking his picture, he leaned in, staring at the image. I studied him as he stared for what seemed like a full minute at the photo. Then, he swallowed hard and pulled back.
He saw what I saw. A wildly tortured soul—and it saddened him.
I quickly closed the photo and scrolled down to images of the search sites, the campgrounds, of my first trip to Hollow Hill, the rumored haunted house. “It’s creepy, isn’t it?”
“It should be bulldozed down.”
“Agreed.” I clicked into a picture of the master bedroom. Rotted beams ran across a ceiling dotted with holes. Planks missing on the hardwood floor. Spray paint on the stained, dingy walls. Cracked windows smeared with dirt.
He yanked the laptop closer to him and zoomed in on the fireplace.
“What do you see?”
He didn’t say anything, just stared at the picture, the vein in his neck throbbing.
“Ryder. What do you see?”
He pulled away, blinked, then seemed to decide something. “I’ll take you there. We’ll go this morning.”
“No, you don’t have to. I can—”
“I’m taking you. End of discussion. Let’s get moving. We’ve got a lot to get done.”
As I watched him disappear down the hall, I wondered what the hell he’d seen in that picture.