At last some warmth crept into his eyes. Liz wasn’t sure if she’d really moved closer to him, or if it just felt as if she had. She took a step back just in case. This was her grandmother’s neighbor. It was almost wrong to think of him any other way. He was the pie maker, the pumpkin farmer who’d been taken under Eleanor’s wing. She shuffled through her mind for a safe conversational topic, something far removed from cocoa-touched lips. “You’ve chosen some unusual crops,” she said finally. “This has always been a wheat and oats kind of place.”
“That’s what everybody says. Newcomers growing new crops? Whatever is the world coming to?”
She decided not to tell him about the marijuana theory. “It’s not that people are unfriendly. The same families have been here for more than a hundred years, though, and they’re slow to accept new faces. In twenty years you’ll still be a newcomer growing new crops.”
“And you, even if you don’t set foot in the place again in all that time, will still be the town’s favorite daughter.”
There was some truth to what he said, but something else came through, a bitterness or disapproval he’d almost managed to hide. “Maybe not the favorite daughter,” she said lightly. “Second, even third or fourth favorite, I’m not sure.”
From the center of a group of men standing near one of the picnic tables, a familiar voice rose. Liz stiffened.
“Elizabeth? Is something wrong?”
She hardly heard Jack’s question. What was Wayne Cooper doing here? She hadn’t seen him when Jennifer had led her around the yard. He must have come late. He was standing comfortably, hands in his pockets, shooting the breeze. Anyone would think he had nothing in the world to regret.
He turned, and saw her. “Liz!” He sounded happy, as if they were old friends. Before she had time to react, he’d reached her side. He glanced at Jack, then ignored him. “Hey, Liz. You look great.”
“You, too,” she said automatically. “Almost grown up.”
Another quick grin. “Almost, almost. Gotta avoid that last step, where you turn into your old man. Anyway, the wife likes my boyish charm.” His wiggled his eyebrows, his signature comedic move ever since grade two.
“You’re married?” Liz looked around for her grandmother. Would she mind leaving early?
“Yeah, someone took me on. Hard to believe, I know. You remember Sally, she always had that long ponytail—”
“I remember you pulling someone’s ponytail.”
Wayne smiled at the memory. “That’s her. How about you, Lizzie? Got a man tucked away somewhere?”
Liz felt a burst of anger. He was smiling, waiting for an answer, as if he had every right to ask her about her personal life, about who she loved. The world could fall apart around him and he would still smile, as pleased with himself as ever. She was aware of wanting him gone, and then suddenly he was. Jack had moved between them, and without taking any steps at all that she was aware of, they were halfway across the yard. They kept moving, Jack’s hand on her arm, until they reached the fence that separated the yard from the pasture. Three grazing heads came up, ears flicked forward, and the horses sauntered over to meet them.
“I hope that wasn’t high-handed,” Jack said. “You seemed to want to get away.”
“I can’t believe he’s here. Aunt Edith wouldn’t have invited him.”
“There were notices about the barbecue on the community bulletin boards.”
She had forgotten about the boards. The town was too small for a newspaper, but you could find out nearly everything that was going on if you kept an eye on the messages people tacked up in the stores and the post office.
The horses had crowded close to the fence, competing for position. One touched its nose to Liz’s shoulder, pushing gently. “Hey, sweetheart,” she said softly. “It’s not fair, is it? The people have all the treats. Where’s the alfalfa? Where’s the bran mash?” All three horses listened, but the first mare kept the other two away. “So you’re top dog, are you?” Liz pulled her hand over the heads of wild oats growing near the fence, collecting seeds, and held it out flat. The horse ate, tough lips nuzzling her palm, delicately picking up each kernel.
“How can you be afraid of Wayne Cooper, and not of these two-ton beasts?”
“I’m not afraid of him. I just don’t like him.” She wasn’t sure how to explain without telling the whole story. “Wayne…likes to find your soft spot and give it a squeeze.”
She brushed the last few oats from her hand. “I need to get out of here. Do you think you could find my grandmother for me, so I won’t risk bumping into him again?”
“Sure.” Jack didn’t move. “It’s none of my business, but do you mind if I give an opinion?”
For some reason, she didn’t mind. She wanted to hear what he thought.
“I don’t know what’s going on, so I could be wrong—leaving might be the best thing for you to do. Cooper would be chasing you away, though. If you let people scare you off, you never stop being scared. That’s basic, Elizabeth.”
“Liz.” She took a deep breath and felt her muscles relax a notch. “I don’t know how to deal with him.” She knew Jack didn’t understand. Wayne must seem inconsequential to him, a little obnoxious, but harmless.
“Want a suggestion?”
“If you’ve got one.”
“Let’s help ourselves to whatever your brother’s been cooking, and then you can introduce me to your friends. Cooper won’t get near you again if you don’t want him to, I can promise you that. But he’ll see you ignoring him, having a good time in spite of him. If he’s hoping to intimidate you, it’ll be hard for him to take.”
It was, as Jack said, basic. Her instinct to put herself in a whole different time zone than Wayne Cooper had been stronger than her good sense.
Liz had been looking at Jack’s chest throughout the conversation. Finally, she looked up. Right away she could see that the image of the heartless primitive fairy was all wrong. His face was warm, concerned. “I really appreciate this. I didn’t have you pegged as a white knight.”
“That’s good. I’m no kind of knight.”
There was a touch of sadness in his smile. Launcelot exiled from Camelot, she thought, Arthur from Avalon. Instead of a violin, a lute for those long fingers to strum. Instead of a pie in hand, a shield. Could she do a story about knights, or had children already seen all they wanted of swords and dragons and wizards?
CHAPTER THREE
THE BLADE SANK ALMOST A QUARTER of an inch into the glued pages. Jack sliced in between the lines of text, removed the point of the knife and sliced again. When he’d cut three sides of a four inch square, he bent back the paper like a door. He placed an unlabelled diskette inside, smoothed a little glue on the cut edges, then pressed the pages down. He had opened the book at random, but King Lear’s line, just above the cut, would amuse Reid if he noticed. Who loses, and who wins; who’s in, who’s out… Not that the game ever really had a winner or a loser. It was the challenge they enjoyed.
The shelves of the built-in china cabinet in the dining room were full of books: paperback thrillers, textbooks of computer and mathematics theory, gold-lettered classics. Jack slipped The Complete Works of Shakespeare back in its place.
He’d spent a lot of time he didn’t really have preparing the clues contained on the disk. Reid might not even find it. He would try, though. Housebreaking was a new twist to the game, and Jack didn’t like it. He lifted the box he’d got from Daniel Rutherford onto the kitchen table. A surprising man, Daniel.
The