“He said if they don’t get any leads in the next hour or so, they’re going to get the boats out and look up at the pond,” Jack finished quietly. “I think that’s unnecessary, ’cause Aiden’s too smart to go up there on his own, but—” He glanced at Webb and shrugged.
“But now that he’s brought it up, it’ll give Webb peace of mind to eliminate that possibility,” Hawk said firmly.
Jack looked at him fondly and nodded. “How’re you holding up, Bird?”
“Me?” Hawk shrugged. “Oh, I’m… fine. Worried.”
Jack gave him a look that said he knew Hawk was feeling something closer to terror, but he didn’t call him on it.
Jack bumped Knox’s arm with his own, just the way Knox had done to me in the orchard. “How about you, big guy? You hanging in there?”
Knox looked surprised to be asked. “Yeah.” He pushed a hand through his hair. “Just wish there was more I could do.”
“You’re doing it.” He grasped Knox’s shoulder and shook it. “It’s good that you’re here.”
His hand lingered on Knox’s shoulder for a beat longer than strictly necessary—and heck yes, I noticed. I was pretty sure Hawk did, too, since his eyes caught on Jack’s hand and stuck there—and it reminded me how just a week ago at dinner, right at this very table, Webb had teased Knox about setting him up with Jack.
At the time, I hadn’t thought a thing about it except maybe, “Good luck to Jack dealing with the cranky lumberjack.” Now, though, I was feeling all proprietary about Knox’s shoulders and contemplating hand-ripping violence for the second time in a week.
This was ridiculous.Iwas ridiculous.
So ridiculously besotted by this man, with his bottle-green eyes and his sly humor that I’d started thinking of him asmycranky lumberjack.
I’d never been a jealous person, and of all the people to start being jealous over, I’d picked a guy who was insanely attractive and not at all interested in me. If I started ripping the hands off every guy who wanted Knox, I’d have a trophy collection to rival any serial killer, and Istillwouldn’t be any closer to finding someone in Vermont who could help me get over my sexual frustration.
Besides which, Jack was probably exactly the kind of person Knoxshouldend up with. Jack had seemed friendly and fun thecouple of times I’d been to the diner. He was in his early or maybe mid-thirties. He owned his own business and was settled in Little Pippin Hollow. He probably wasn’t the sort of person to drink too many gin and tonics, or if he did, he’d handle them without vomiting in front of Knox. He wouldn’t talk and talk andtalkendlessly or throw himself at someone who wasn’t interested in him sexually. He probably had his own opinions on efficient dishwashing, and he and Knox could have thrilling discussions about the best ways to fold socks or whatever. Maybe he was precisely the right sort of person to put that happy-go-lucky smile back on Knox’s face.
I cleared my throat and forced myself to look away. “I just forwarded you that list of classmates, Knox.”
“Thanks, Goodman. I’ll get started on that.” Knox picked up his phone again.
“And I guess I’ll text Amanda, just in case,” said Webb, with the same enthusiasm one might use when volunteering to remove their own appendix.
Sally Ann lifted herself off the rug by the door and shook herself, making her tags jingle. She gave a single bark and then whined at the door.
“You need to go out, baby girl? Poor thing’s probably worried, too.” Marco sighed, preparing to push himself up from the table, but I held up a hand.
“I’ve got it,” I said quickly. “I could use the fresh air.”
I opened the door for the dog and followed her out onto the porch and down the steps to the yard. The evening air was cool against my overheated cheeks. Every exterior light was on, and the visitor parking area was filled with searchers’ cars. Past the barn, down in the largest of the U-pick orchards, I could see lights and movement as the police officers searched. But the area immediately around the house was silent. Peaceful.
I stuffed my hands into my sweatshirt pockets—Knox’s sweatshirt pockets—and took a deep breath. The air smelled like woodsmoke and apples, which had become really familiar and comforting over the past week or so.
Where the hell was Aiden?
“What’s this? We gonna tour the yard?” I asked Sally Ann. She was usually happy to do her business on the grass behind the house, but tonight she seemed to want to stroll the perimeter, trotting a little ways up the drive and over to the gravel parking area before circling back to me, like she wanted to make sure I was following. “Guess you didn’t get enough exercise today, huh?”
I followed along after her because I’d heard Webb talking about the coyotes in the area a couple of nights before, and the last thing the Sundays needed was something else to worry about.
“Hey! Slow down!” I called as Sally Ann sped up past the fence where the cows grazed and headed toward the gift shop barn. “If you lead me to the cows, I’m letting them have you first. You hear me? I will not be trampled for your amusement, Sally Ann.”
A familiar childish giggle filled the quiet air, and I froze, looking around at all the places where shadows congregated.
“Aiden,” I called quietly, my heart beating crazily as I wondered if maybe I was going crazy.
A soft, sad “Yeah” came back, and my heart beat even faster for a whole other reason.
I followed the sound—and Sally Ann’s running feet—past the gift shop barn to the outside stairs that led to my barn-apartment, and then up. Aiden was perched on the top step, clutching his backpack, his face full of Sally Ann’s fur.
