Glen Avery…February 2017
And MJ’s scribbled notes said:Solo. Charming. Interested in local lodges.
“Glen Avery?” Cindy stared at his face, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was the same man currently standing in her great room waiting for her to sign a contract…and transfer fifty thousand dollars to him.
All the blood drained from her head, making the room nearly spin.
“I did a search on Glen Avery’s name,” MJ continued, her voice sharp as steel. She held out her phone so Cindy could read the words, but they were just swimming, everything underwater.
The article headline finished the gut punch…
Big Elk Lodge in Sawtooth Mountains Swindled Out of Thousands, Forced to Close
There was a photo of him, attached to the story, the same smile, the same eyes, with a caption that read, “Glen Avery, consultant.”
“He went to prison for five years and now he’s out and doing the same thing.” MJ ground out the words. “He must stay at these places all over the mountains and sniff out a victim.”
Cindy’s knees went a little watery. She braced on the counter, the relief so intense it left her lightheaded. She hadn’t signed. She hadn’t moved the money. She hadn’t lost the lodge out of desperation and blind faith.
“Okay,” she breathed. “Okay. I’ll go tell him to leave right?—”
The front door closed softly and they both gasped, hurrying out of the kitchen and down the hall.
They caught sight of the car lights heading out, and turned to see the great room completely empty, but one piece of paper must have fluttered to the floor when he rushed out.
MJ made a sound that was half victory, half fury.
“I’m so grateful for you, MJ,” Cindy whispered. “You’re usually the trusting one and I’m pragmatic.” She bent over and picked up the agreement, which was just a page of legal gibberish she suspected meant nothing.
It was merely a trap to steal a lot of money, and she’d almost stepped right into it.
Tossing the pen on the table, she walked to the hearth and fed the page between the logs, watching the neat letters curl and blacken as the fire flickered back to life.
MJ stood behind her, one hand warm on her shoulder. “We’ll figure it out,” she said simply.
Cindy nodded and stepped away. “I better go get the puppy,” she said softly. “I’ll be back.”
MJ didn’t offer to go with her, probably understanding she needed to be alone. In the mudroom, she grabbed her jacket and that stupid red hat and slipped them on, walking out into the stillness of the Christmas-lit night.
She looked at the two sets of car tracks—Henry’s and Jack’s—and fought the urge to get a little dramatic over how those two men just rode right over her second chances.
Well, they did. And she needed to get out of her fairytale dreams and go back to pragmatic and sensible. That worked better for Cindy Kessler.
She took a few steps and paused at the sleigh, reaching out to jingle one of the bells, the sound taking her heart for a ride.
Taking a breath, she stepped on the running board, then pulled herself onto the front seat. This beautiful sleigh would forever and ever remind her of Jack. Of hismaybeoffer tosort oftry again andhopefully…
She bit her lip, vaguely aware of car lights on the road, then an engine, a door, and the thud of footsteps on the driveway.
Her heart tripped. Was Henry coming back? Did he have a gun? Was she in danger?
She ducked below the seat but sneaked her head out to look and see…
“Jack?” She popped up, stunned to see him hauling his suitcase.
He dropped the bag and walked directly toward the sleigh without saying a word.
“What are you doing here?”
