Chapter One Excerpt
From his position sitting on a tree
stump at the edge of deep woods, Doyle saw blue smoke rise
in a transparent tower from the chimney of the small home.
Though some distance away, Doyle saw the house in clear
detail. Brown siding, white trim, long narrow driveway, neat
lawn. The house reflected simple country living at its best.
He noticed lights glowing toward the back, the part he
guessed to be the kitchen. And as he watched, the door to
the back porch opened and a man exited, crossing the yard to
open the driver's door of a car parked in the driveway.
Though Doyle could not hear, he knew from the exhaust rising
behind the car, that the man had started the engine. Doyle
saw him climb out and begin scraping heavy frost from the
car windows with a long handled scraper.
Doyle shivered as he watched, aware that
winter pressed eagerly upon the heels of fall. He turned up
his collar and deliberately moved his gaze away. His
half-shepherd, half-mutt dog had managed to invite himself
into a nearby pasture, evidently hoping to torment a horse
grazing peacefully on the last bits of a hay bale. So far
the horse paid no attention to the dog. Still, Doyle worried
that barking might draw the attention of the man scraping
his car windows in the distance. Doyle felt the familiar
squeeze of fear in his chest, and he wondered for a
desperate moment how he might call the dog without
distracting the man. Dennis Doyle had chosen this stump
carefully, confident that he could watch from here without
being observed. But, one bark would change all that. Doyle's
breath came faster, and little puffs of warm cloud seemed to
hang in the air around his face. He had no desire to be
seen.
Just then the door of the house opened
again, and a woman clad in a pale blue bathrobe stepped out
the back door. Holding the robe closed with one hand, she
descended the steps to the yard. With her other hand she
carried a commuter mug full of steaming liquid. Doyle saw
the morning sun glint off the stainless steel mug, and
watched intently as she crossed the driveway and handed the
drink to the man. He wrapped one arm around her shoulder and
squeezed lightly. Then she turned her face to him and they
kissed, a gentle kiss that seemed to hang for a long time in
the silent, cold air. Doyle turned away, disgusted.
Where had that stupid dog gone now?
Doyle spotted him, lying peacefully
beneath the grazing horse, his soft brown dog-snout resting
on his front paws - as if every dog in the world preferred
to nap beneath a grazing quarter horse. Doyle stifled an
urge to whistle.
Grunting, he turned his attention to the
edge of the pavement. Only fifty feet from this stump,
civilization began.
Asphalt. Roads. People. His let his gaze
trace the edge of the road where black top met gravel. How
long had it been since he had allowed his own feet to touch
pavement? He did not know. Could not guess. Doyle had
stopped keeping track of time, long years ago. Why would he
care about time, or years? He wanted only to live out his
own life.
Lately, Doyle's allotment of years had
lasted far too long.
Movement in the driveway caught Doyle's
attention. The small car backed out slowly, pulled into the
street, changed direction, and started down the road. As the
woman waved, the white import accelerated. She would be
alone now, he knew.
Doyle waited until her back door closed
and then whistled. Immediately, the dog's ears pricked up,
and his head rose. Without hesitation, the dog trotted away
from the horse, back under the fence and across the edge of
pavement to Doyle's side. Sitting attentively beside him,
the dog slid his snout onto Doyle's pantleg. With clear
determination the dog eased his nose under the palm of
Doyle's hand. Content, the dog waited, watching his master
with longing expression and attentive, deep brown eyes.
Doyle's hand did not move. He did not pet the dog, or nor
did he caress the soft black-brown fur. Instead, keeping his
eyes on the roadway, he allowed himself only the fleeting
pleasure of motionless touch.
The sound of an approaching vehicle
caught Doyle's attention. His body stiffened involuntarily,
until the vehicle came into view and he recognized the soft
gray-green Jeep-Cherokee. Without slowing, the jeep turned a
tight circle along the edge of the pavement, until it faced
away from Doyle and stopped. Its rear cargo door hung just
over the edge of the road. The driver's door opened, and a
lean, gray-haired man climbed out of the driver's seat. He
walked deliberately toward the gravel beside the road and
stood waiting, his hands on his hips.
Doyle sighed, took a deep breath and
unfolded himself from the stump.
"You here?" The visitor called,
gazing directly at Doyle, yet not seeing him.
"I'm here." Doyle moved out
from the cover of a giant cedar. His right knee ached from
sitting so long in the cold morning air. As always, it took
a few steps before the painful limping subsided.
The man smiled and walked through the
grass toward him. "Got anything?"
"Just one."
He stepped closer. "A box?"
"Yep." Doyle dropped his green
canvas rucksack onto the grass-covered ground, and opened
the end. Without taking his eyes from the man before him, he
bent down and brought out the box. Before it had fully
emerged, the tall man had both hands out, eager to receive
the treasure.
"It's beautiful," he said,
running his index finger along one corner.
Tiny dovetails no larger than the
smallest fingernail on a woman's hand lined up perfectly
along the smooth edge. The man held the box up, gazing at
the lower surface. Four perfectly shaped feet had been
carved in one piece with the bottom. He brought it down, and
removed the fitted top. The inside of the box, like the
outside, betrayed the same attention to detail as the
outside. "You've outdone yourself, Doyle," he
said, his voice awestruck. "It's one of your
best."
Doyle shrugged. "How much?"
"Forty?"
Doyle nodded, agreeing. Suddenly
uncomfortable, he glanced once around the edge of the woods,
across the pasture to the house. He had been down too long.
He needed to be away, back into the mountains. Alone.
Reading his glance, the lean man asked,
"Supplies?"
Doyle nodded and reached into his pants
pocket. Removing a battered sheet of paper, he handed it to
the driver. Tiny frayed holes ran along the edge where he
had torn it from his spiral notebook.
"I've got the other stuff in the
car." The man pointed to the jeep with his thumb.
"Good."
The two men walked together toward the
Jeep, Doyle stopping several steps away from the car. The
tall man held the box against his side as he used a car key
to open the rear cargo door. Carefully, he wrapped the box
in newspaper and tucked it into a side compartment. "I
think I brought everything you asked for. All the usual
supplies. I put the extra money in an envelope on top."
He picked up a cardboard liquor box and held it out to
Doyle.
Doyle snatched the envelope and placed it
on the rear deck of the car. "You keep the money. I got
no use for money," he said, nodding toward the
mountain. He took the box with both arms.
"Thanks."
"I shouldn't keep your money,"
the man began. He bent to pick up the envelope and turned
back holding it out, "You…"
But both Doyle and the dog had
disappeared.
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