Angels Fall

not worried about holding me up, you just want me out."
    "Okay. Bye."
    For the first time, he gave her a quick, genuine smile. "You're more interesting when you've got a little bite to you. What's the special tonight?"
    "Fried chicken, parsley potatoes, peas and carrots."
    "Sounds good." He strolled to the door, stopped directly in front of her. He swore he could almost hear her body brace. "See you around."
    The door closed quietly behind him, and the lock snicked before he'd gone down the first step. He circled the building and, to satisfy his curiosity, looked up when he reached the front.
    She was standing at the center window, staring out at the lake. Slim as a willow stem, he thought, with windblown hair and deep, secret eyes. He thought she looked more like a portrait in a frame than flesh and blood. And he wondered just where she'd left the rest of herself. And why.
     
    SPRING THAW meant mud. Trails and paths went soft and thick with it, and caked boots left it streaked over the streets and sidewalks. At Joanie's, the locals who knew her wrath scraped off the worst of it before coining in. Tourists, who would flock to the parks and campgrounds and cabins in another month, were in short supply. But there were those who came for the lake, and for the river, paddling their canoes and kayaks over the cold water, and through the echoing canyons.
    Angel's Fist settled down to the quiet interlude between its winter and summer booms.
    At just past sunrise, when the sky was blooming with pinks. Recce navigated one of the narrow, bumpy roads on the other side of the lake. More a trail than a road, she thought as she twisted the wheel and slowed to avoid a dip in the hard-packed dirt.
    When a moose wandered across the track, she not only gasped out loud in surprised delight, but sent up a little prayer of gratitude that she'd been going about ten miles an hour.
    Now, she'd sing hosannas if she wasn't lost.
    Joanie wanted her there at seven, and though she'd given herself twice the time needed, she teared she'd be late. Or end up driving to Utah.
    Since she'd been looking forward to spending the morning baking, she didn't want to end up in Utah.
    She passed the stand of red willows, as advertised. At least she thought they were red willows. Then caught the glimmer of a light.
    "Round the willows, bear left and then… Yes!"
    She saw Joanie's ancient Ford pickup, mentally pumped her fist in the air. And then just stopped the car.
    She didn't know what she'd been expecting. A rustic little cabin, maybe. A small western bungalow. Either would have suited her image of where her sharp-tongued, impatient boss might live.
    But she hadn't been expecting the style and space she saw in the log-and-glass house, the long sweep of porches, of decks that butted out to rise over marsh and into glade.
    Nor had she expected a small flood of winter pansies, all cheery and purple, spilling out of window boxes. She thought: Gingerbread house, though it had straight, practical lines rather than curlicues. But there was something about the way it was tucked into the woods, like a secret, that made it fanciful.
    Charmed, she followed the orders she'd been given and parked, then climbed out to walk around to the back.
    Windows in every direction, Reece noted. Generous ones that would offer views of mountain, of marsh, of lake and of the town. More pots of pansies, others that held spears that would bloom with daffodils and tulips and hyacinths once the weather warmed.
    Light beamed against the glass. She could see Joanie through one of the kitchen windows, wearing a sweatshirt with its sleeves shoved up to her elbows, already mixing something in a bowl.
    Reece made her way around to a door, knocked.
    "It's open!"
    The fact that it wasn't locked made Reece wince. What if she were a madman with a club? Shouldn't a woman, especially one living alone, consider such possibilities and take basic precautions? But she stepped into a tidy mud/laundry room where an old flannel jacket and a shapeless brown hat hung on hooks, and a pair of ancient work boots stood handily by the door.
    "You got any mud on your shoes, you take them off before you come into my kitchen."
    Reece checked, hunched her shoulders guiltily, then took off her shoes.
    If the exterior of the house had been a revelation, the kitchen was the answer to every prayer.
    Spacious, well lit, with an acre of solid-surface counter in gorgeous tones of bronzes and coppers. Double ovens—oh