Bitterroot Lake by Alicia Beckman

Author:Alicia Beckman [Beckman, Alicia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Crooked Lane Books

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They decided a mouse must have chewed through the wires. No other animal could have worked its way in. Why, what the pea-brain expected it could find to eat inside a plastic box filled with plastic-coated wires and metal switches, they could not imagine. The critter must have been sharp-toothed—the break was awfully neat—and he’d left nothing behind. But no other explanation made sense. Their search, in the carriage house and in the cellar, for wire to make a splice had come up empty. So Connor had gone to check on his young employee one more time, and she’d made the trek up to the highway in search of a phone signal, one more time.

She was getting tired of this.

It was time to go home. Time to get on with life, whatever that meant. She had board meetings and volunteer commitments and a house and friends. And the kids would be home soon. It wouldn’t be the same, of course, but it would be good. She pictured kayaking with them on Lake Washington and wandering the farmers’ market. Morning coffee in the bright kitchen, drinking in the wide-angle views, sleepy teenagers wrapping their arms around her neck, then sliding into the breakfast nook beside her and just hanging. Although Noah wasn’t a teenager anymore.

In the kitchen, she set the tiny nest on the window sill beside the nest she’d picked up on the lawn and the pine cone from the sewing room. Grabbed her keys and strode to the carriage house.

She backed the rig out, then paused at the end of the circular driveway to watch the two men remove a badly leaning fir that might threaten a cabin if the winds turned wrong. Both men wore white hard hats bearing the company logo. Her brother held out a hand to stop her, but she was already stopped. She was a lumberman’s daughter.

Matt made one last cut and Connor used the winch and cable in the back of the truck to land the tree softly without damaging the undergrowth or the soft earth. Then Connor waved her through. She waved back and slipped the rig in gear.

The rain had stopped, but water ran down the ruts in the road. Her tires slipped in the mud, sending the rear end sideways a few inches, and she shifted into low gear. Felt the front tires start to catch, then begin to slide backward. “Don’t let me down now, car,” she urged and the wheels spun, then caught solid ground. She fed the gas slowly and the wheels took hold, gliding forward.

At the top of the road, she stayed on McCaskill Lane but pulled over to the side. First call, her mother. No answer on the house line; voice mail on the cell. Peggy must be painting. She left a message saying Connor had been out and while the damage to the lodge was more extensive than she’d thought, he was sure it could be easily repaired. Not much of an exaggeration—he had been sure, calling Matt Kolsrud the elder a log home magician.

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