Winter's Secret (28 page)

Over and over, the sensation of Rodd's lips on hers heated her from head to toe. She'd let him kiss her twice now. And she had kissed him back. Her decision to remain single must have changed, but...she felt strange, new, not like herself at all. She wanted to dance, to sing, to roll in the snow and shout with laughter. She couldn't regret the kisses.
Lord, what's happening to me, to us
?

Rodd and Wendy arrived back at Harlan's house in time to wash up with water from the kettle on the stove and sit down to Christmas dinner. Sometime early in the morning Harlan's electricity had gone out. With Wendy beside him, Rodd sat down to an improvised feast of steaks pulled out of the freezer and broiled on the propane grill on the back porch, salad, cloverleaf rolls and pumpkin pie, which Ma had baked yesterday.

During the meal, Rodd thought over what he and Wendy had shared last night and this morning.

Snapshots of Wendy kept popping into his mind—her singing carols beside him, her concern for Ma the very first day they'd met, her walking bravely into Flanagan's to deliver Thanksgiving dinner. He'd been very attracted to other women he'd dated, but those women had been so very different from Wendy. None had ranked as high as she in his regard. He'd given up thinking about marriage years ago. He'd told himself he just wasn't the marrying kind.

After last night, Wendy had healed his guilt over the botched crime scene years ago Was he falling in love with Wendy
? I must be. Otherwise I wouldn't have kissed her.

Later that afternoon, Rodd rose from the sofa and stretched. "I hate to leave, but I have to go home and check on my cattle."

"I thought you'd want to see to them," Harlan said from his recliner by the fire. "We'll expect you to come back, though. We haven't opened our gifts yet."

Rodd knew better than to try to excuse himself from the holiday. He could tell that Harlan wouldn't take no for an answer. And until the electricity came back on, they'd need him to carry in wood for the fireplace and woodstove downstairs and to carry up water from the hand pump. Besides, Wendy was here—and he wanted to be anywhere she was. "Okay." His cell phone rang. He pulled it from his belt, expecting it to be one of his deputies. "Durand here."

"Hi! It's Zak. I like my gift. It's cool."

Rodd grinned. "You like it, huh?"

"Yeah, it's great. My dad helped me drive the car around the living room."

Pastor Bruce's voice came on the line. "Hi, Rodd. Thanks for the remote-control car. Zak's been busy ramming furniture with it all day."

Rodd chuckled. "Sorry."

"No problem. These cell phones are great, aren't they?"

"Right."

"Won't keep you. Here, Zak, wish the sheriff a Merry Christmas."

Zak's exuberant voice shrilled, "Merry Christmas, Sheriff. Jesus loves you and I do too."

Rodd couldn't stop the grin that spread over his face. "The same to you, Zak." He glanced at Wendy as he replaced his phone in his belt. His heart swelled at the sight of her. He'd never experienced such a pull toward a woman. The thought—though brand-new— wasn't unwelcome. What is this how love that leads to marriage begins?

About a half hour later, Rodd, followed by Wendy, snowmobiled up the fence line to his house. The sun sat low on the horizon. He'd check his cattle's water supply and feed; then they'd head back to Harlan's. Spending the holiday with friends and, more importantly, with Wendy, exerted an irresistible attraction on him. He admitted to himself that spending the rest of Christmas alone at home was unthinkable—especially after last night. Would he and Wendy have time alone tonight? He needed to talk to her, to investigate this new relationship they'd begun.

His lane was drifted over in spots. With Wendy close behind him, he navigated around the drifts until he stopped in a windswept area right in front of his barn. He slid off his machine and started toward the barn entrance.

Wendy's agitated shout stopped him.

He turned toward her. She was pointing toward his house. Looking over, he froze.

His back door had been smashed in.

Chapter Sixteen

After doing a cursory survey of the damage done to his door, Rodd went in search of Wendy. The blinding outrage that had burned through him had lasted but a few moments. Rodd's unspoken hope had been that the thief would become overconfident and do something foolish. Cockiness like this always led to exposure. The Weasel had made that fatal mistake.

Rodd found Wendy in the bam at the hand pump, filling the water trough for his breeding cows. The bam, snug and lit by the fading sun, welcomed him. As he walked in, his Wendy drew him straight to her. The desire to coax her close and kiss her flowed through him in a vivid current. In this rough setting, her natural beauty was multiplied.

He wasn't surprised to see her busy. Her talent for recognizing practical needs and meeting them only revealed more of her caring personality.

"You didn't need to do this, Wendy." I need to take you home to your grandfather's and come hack here alone. Please don't misunderstand.

"Your cattle needed water. In the past when I came out to check on your uncle, I often helped him with this." She wouldn't meet his eyes as she went on pumping.

The squeakiness of the old pump grated on his nerves. Wendy shouldn't be doing his chores. And he needed to begin his investigation, and he couldn't involve Wendy now. This might his break in the case. The Weasel may have left him some evidence this time. Of course, she'd want to help. But he had to focus on the case. And the only way he could do that was alone.

"I need to take you back to your grandfather's." He drew off his insulated gloves. Would she understand? "I have to stay here and go over the crime scene."

When Wendy had seen the broken-in door, she'd half expected Rodd to shut down again. She'd just gotten him to open up, to put Veda's attack and his past mistake into perspective, and now this.
Lord, why did the Weasel do something this brazen?

With one glance at Rodd's shuttered expression, she repeated her thought aloud. "Why would the Weasel hit your house? It doesn't make any sense."

He frowned at her, then rested his ungloved hand on hers.

She had stopped pumping, but stood with her hand on the curved handle. His touch reassured her. What had passed between them in the past twenty-four hours had been real to him too. "Did you have much money around the house?"

"No. But this wasn't about money."

"What is it about then?" She combed her flattened hair with the fingers of her free hand, trying not to look so bedraggled for him

He hesitated and then touched her cheek. She came into his arms as naturally as if they'd embraced every day of their lives. "Why would the burglar take such a chance?"

Rodd held her tight against him, resting his chin on the top of her head.

She drew strength from his wanting her close to him. But would he let her be his sounding board?

Rodd inhaled deeply. "Unless he's totally stupid, it's a slap in my face. He's laughing at me because I haven't been able to catch him yet." His voice had dropped to a lower pitch.

"Then he's a fool." She lifted her face and stared into his eyes, letting her affection for him show in her expression, her voice. "He's a fool if he thinks you won't catch him."

His reply came in a swift kiss, one that left her nearly breathless. She remained in his arms, standing quietly, listening to the lulling sound of the cows' soft lowing.

"What will you do?" she asked, resting her cheek against his slick snowmobile suit, hearing his heart beating under her ear—wishing she were bold enough to initiate another kiss.

"I'm going to secure the crime scene; then I'll take you home. I'm going to get one of my deputies to come on his snowmobile to help me go over the crime scene. I don't want to miss anything. Then I'll be back at Harlan's for the night."

She nodded. "There's something else you need to do."

"What?"

"Ask God for his help."

"I—"

"Rodd, why do you keep resisting God? Why don't you let him help you?"

Rodd gazed at her, thinking. "Maybe you're right."

She heard a softening in his tone and prayed that God would open Rodd's eyes—if she were right.
Lord, please let me help Rodd
.

Then they worked side by side feeding and watering the stock, then went out to their snowmobiles.

As Wendy pulled on her helmet, the impression that this break-in "felt" like something Uncle Dutch might do troubled her for a moment. But she discounted it. The sheriff had done nothing that had irritated her uncle.

Next Veda came to mind, but Wendy dismissed her too. Veda was a physically strong and very vindictive person whose spirit was quite capable of this, but Wendy couldn't see her tackling such a long snowmobile ride in a blizzard. But then the break-in could have taken place early on Christmas Eve before the weather had deteriorated. Which left the field of suspects, including Elroy Dietz, wide open.

The next morning, Rodd unlocked his front door and stepped inside. Fortunately, the downed power line hadn't serviced his house, so it was chilly but not icy, and he wouldn't have to deal with broken water pipes. But the fact that his home had been invaded gave him the sensation that he was stepping into alien territory. Home didn't feel like home. To alleviate the silence that threatened to deafen him, with his gloved hand he snapped on the radio in his kitchen.

The voice of the weatherman broke the stillness: "The morning after Christmas Day has dawned bright and—you won't believe it—warmer. The cold blast that had barreled down from Canada for Christmas Eve and Day has retreated north. Let's hope the Canucks will be able to handle it.

"Northern Wisconsin, as well as Minnesota and Upper Peninsula Michigan, is going to receive a break in this year's record-breaking winter. In the next few days, the weather should moderate—highs in the twenties. But don't get used to it. This is just a short vacation from frigid temperatures. Spring isn't just around the corner."

The weather report ended and was followed by an advertisement by the county funeral home. Rodd blocked out the words but kept the station on for company. He carefully took off his gloves and winter gear and put them in the hall closet, which hadn't been touched during the break-in. He and his deputy had been all over his house last night, but he wanted to go over it once more.

He'd read so much about the emotions that victims of home invasion experience. Now he was having to deal with those emotions himself and proceed with his investigation. His one hope was that the Weasel had had one moment of carelessness.

Motivated by this, he began again by examining the scene as a whole. The Weasel had touched and disturbed very little. He'd been in a hurry. Rodd's hope that the thief had made a mistake dimmed.

Two hours later, Rodd had discovered nothing new in the way of evidence. And the thief hadn't gotten much either—-just a few bills and change that Rodd had left on his bedroom dresser. But he'd sent Rodd a message loud and clear—he thought the sheriff couldn't catch him.

Anger roiled inside Rodd. Anger at the Weasel. Anger at himself. If only the stakeout at Olson's hadn't turned into a slapstick comedy.... If only he'd seen that the kegger was a smoke screen. ... If only he'd stayed at the VFW instead of running to the explosion. ... If only ... he stopped. That line of thinking never took anyone anywhere useful, according to Uncle George.

Wendy came to mind. He'd call her soon. He wanted to hear her soft voice.

The phone rang. He walked back into the kitchen and picked up the receiver. "Durand here."

"Hey, Sheriff, back home, I see." The voice had some quality of familiarity to it, but it was slurred and muffled.

"Who is this?"

"Well, that's the question, isn't it? Who am I?"

The hair on the sheriff's neck prickled. "What do you want?"

"I want to help you, since you don't seem to be able to figure out who the Snowmobile Burglar is."

"Who is this?"

A chuckle. "Check out the snowmobiles. You might find something interesting."

"Whose snowmobiles?"

"You know whose." The line clicked and the dial tone buzzed in Rodd's ear.

Chapter Seventeen

Under the long fluorescent lights, the Steadfast Community Church basement was crowded and noisy with village residents of all ages for its third annual New Year's Eve Carnival and Auction. Wendy glanced at the door from her job at the "fishing hole," where children flung fishing lines over a primitive painting of a bright turquoise, very "fishy" ocean to "catch" prizes. Bruno sat behind the blue paper ocean and tied the prizes onto the lines.

Wendy tried to keep herself on an even keel, but something didn't feel right tonight. An hour ago, Veda had swaggered into the carnival and, with her back to a wall, sat watching the activities.

Wendy knew it was fanciful, but the old woman looked like an outlaw from an old Western movie—she looked as if she were waiting for the sheriff to come for the showdown. Why had Veda come? Even though she never missed a Sunday morning service, she never attended any social function at the church. But how could one guess her twisted motive and prepare to meet it?