Hidden Summit - By Robyn Carr Page 0,4

want cleaning. He’s challenged—he has Down syndrome—but he’s smart and very competent. Good guy.”

“Thanks, but I’ve been cleaning for myself for quite a while. I’ll be fine.”

“Let me help you unload a few things,” Luke offered.

“I guess I’ll move in and go have a beer and some dinner.”

“Sounds like a good plan. You gonna be able to find your way back here?”

“I think so. Left turn at the dead sequoia?”

Luke laughed. “That’ll get you home.”

Home. It was a memory. But Conner said, “Thanks.”

Luke helped him move a couple of duffels and boxes into the cabin, shook his hand and went back to his house, his family. Alone once more, Conner unpacked some clothes into the one and only chest of drawers in the room. He plugged in his laptop to recharge it—he and Katie had changed all their accounts, user names and passwords. Although Brie hadn’t said anything, the D.A. had told him they could keep in touch by internet but recommended they not use their names or previously used ID’s, and they should resist the urge to Skype, just on the off chance their internet access was compromised.

What remained of the hardware store had been razed, and all that was left was the lot, but it was in a prime location. Conner had insurance money for rebuilding; it had been put in an investment account under his new identity and would be there for him when this nightmare ended. With his share of the sale of the lot and insurance on the building and stock, he could start over. But not in Sacramento, where he’d spent his entire life except for two years in the army.

He got to that little Virgin River bar just before six and damn near smiled in appreciation. Conner was a custom builder at the heart of things and this establishment was put together real nice. The bar itself was a fine piece of furniture. Someone here favored beeswax as a buffer and shiner, and he could almost smell it. The place was cozy, hospitable and clean as a whistle. He found himself a spot at the end of the bar where he could observe.

“Hey, pardner, what can I get you?” the bartender asked.

“I’ll take a light beer and how about a menu?”

“No problem on the beer, but I’m afraid we don’t have a menu. Our cook fixes up whatever he’s in the mood for. You lucked out there if you like fish—the trout are jumping and Preacher, that’s the cook, has been spending some time out at the river. He has a stuffed trout that will just bring you to your knees.”

“Sounds good to me,” Conner said.

He was immediately served up a beer, and the bartender said, “I’m Jack. This is my place. You passing through?”

“I hope so,” he said, lifting the beer to his lips.

Jack smiled. “Don’t be in such a hurry. This place is about to get real pretty, soon as the rain lets up. And when you see what the melting snowpack does to that river, you’ll just fall in love. No wonder our fish get so big.”

And then Jack was gone, wandering down the bar to take care of other patrons, serving a few plates, picking up a few. The atmosphere was real friendly; everyone seemed acquainted, and there was a small part of Conner that wondered, Can I make a life here? For a while? Imagine checking into a hotel and having the manager offer housekeeping if you were in the mood, no extra charge. Imagine a bar and grill that served up only what the cook felt like.

Jack returned a little later to ask, “How you doing on that beer? Dinner’s ready whenever you are.”

“Sure,” Conner said. “I’m ready. I’m good on the beer.”

While Jack was back getting his dinner, a young woman came into the bar. She pushed down the collar of her jacket and shook out her dark blond hair—lots of loose curls reached her shoulders. She was a little on the thin side but pretty. The thing that got to him, she looked so clean. Or pure, like some Sunday-school teacher or something. Girl-next-door decent. Her complexion was peachy, her eyes dark, her lips full and pink. There was every reason why that sort of thing would appeal to Conner, after his experience with his ex-wife.

But then, Samantha had come across as squeaky clean, too, even classy. There hadn’t been a hint of cheap in her. Appearances meant nothing.

Even so, Conner had been a long