Hideaway

So far, she could definitely call this experience interesting.

Before she stayed here another day, she would need some supplies. Maybe Hideaway, small as it was, would carry what she needed. She’d finish unloading the car, then take a short drive to town.

Dane loved the smell of freshly cooked bacon, even if it was poison to arteries. He especially got a craving for it on Monday mornings, when he had a whole week of work to face. This morning, Cook had also made biscuits, fried eggs and potatoes with onions, and whipped up a batch of cream gravy that could tempt a man to sin.

Snatching a strip of bacon from the platter on the warming tray, Dane nodded good-morning to Cook. “Where’s your kitchen help this morning?”

“I sent him to town.” Cook grabbed an oven mitt and opened the oven door. “Our hens are getting a little carried away lately, and they were low on eggs at the store.”

Dane paused with the bacon halfway to his mouth. He checked the schedule on the side of the refrigerator. Gavin Farmer.

“How long ago did he leave?”

Cook stirred the potatoes and onions, then peered at Dane over the rims of his reading glasses. “About thirty minutes ago. Something wrong?”

“I hope not. It doesn’t take that long to go over and back.” The dock was barely a block from the store. After the hullabaloo this weekend…but searching for problems never did anybody any good. Dane crunched the bacon.

“You know how Blaze likes to hang around and shoot the breeze with ol’ Cecil when there’s time,” Cook said. “He got the milking done early and already had the potatoes shredded when I got down here. He was just underfoot, driving me nuts. I figured—”

“It’s okay,” Dane said. “He’ll be back anytime, I’m sure.” He strolled to the back door and peered out the window.

“You worry about that kid too much,” Cook said, stepping up behind him.

“And you don’t?”

“He’s a piece of work, all right. Charmer. He got Bertie Meyer to bake him a batch of her chocolate black-walnut cookies last week, then he traded half of them to Willy to do his chores one morning so he could sleep in.”

“Well, if he doesn’t get back soon, he’s going to be eating the rest of them for breakfast. We’re not waiting around if he’s late.”

Brightly colored houses graced the narrow, roughly paved road into Hideaway. The peridot green of budding springtime gave the morning a crisp, fresh feel, the multitude of pink-and-white dogwood trees providing a splash of elegance to a progression of postage-stamp-size yards. Larger, more elegant brick and stone homes graced the cliff line across the lake. Other houses were set deeply into the hillsides above the road.