KnockOut

coffee table, and set his cup down on the glass top. He waved a hand. “It’s just as well Autumn’s playing in the bed-room with the cats. I need to talk to you, Joanna. Sit down a moment. You probably heard me on my cell phone. All my deputies are out looking for Blessed Backman, with as much neighboring law enforcement help as they can spare. Unfortunately, he doesn’t appear to have a driver’s license or a Social Security number. And that means, officially, he doesn’t exist.”
    “Surely he must drive. How else did he get here?”
    “Yes, it only makes sense that he drove up here. It could have been a car, truck, motorcycle, whatever.”
    “I know Blessed is still out there, probably real close. He hasn’t got Autumn yet, and believe me, he wants Autumn very badly. I need to get her away from here. I’ve been thinking Colorado might be a nice home for us.”
    Her heels looked dug in like a mule’s, and so he said easily, “And what do you intend to do, Joanna? In Colorado?”
    “I’m not completely down-and-out like you seem to think, Sheriff I was an office manager in a big medical facility in Boston. I have a business degree.” She sighed. “Who am I trying to kid? Actually, I was okay at it, but I hated it, being cooped up all day, every single day living for the weekend. I did it only to help support Autumn. I do speak Russian fluently.”
    “Yeah, so who wants to learn Russian in Colorado?”
    She plowed right over him. “What I’m really good at and enjoy is teaching skiing and snowboarding in the winter and taking people hiking in the mountains in the summer, rock climbing, white-water rafting, camping, that sort of thing.”
    “Autumn told me your husband passed away.”
    “Yes, recently.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “Look, Ethan, I might not have much money right now, but I do have enough to get Autumn and me set up in Colorado until I get a job. I’m thinking Leadville.”
    “Leadville is quite a place,” he said. “I was there with my brother and sister once, cross-country skiing and some downhill, of course. I remember a couple of days the city was actually in the clouds.”
    “Yes, well, it’s two miles high, after all.”
    “And all those old Victorians, it made me want to pull on some chaps and climb aboard a horse. So is that why you’ve been coming to Titusville for so long—your parents were outdoors fans? Did you spend a lot of time in Titus Hitch Wilderness?”
    “A fair amount through the years, Sheriff. Why are you smiling? Don’t you believe me?”
    “Sure, I believe you. Actually, I’m glad to hear you weren’t all that happy being a city wuss, all decked out in suits and panty hose and killer high heels. I can clearly see your little nose pressed against the office glass, desperate to get outside.”
    “City wuss? I’ve got some city girlfriends who would deck you for saying that. Some women I know who work in Boston could chop up a mugger and fry him for breakfast.”
    “Urban survival skills, that’s different. I’m more interested in a woman who can set up a camp, cook on a Coleman stove and boil up coffee, kill a snake and bake the sucker if she had to, know when a bear is looking at her like breakfast. See? Different kinds of skills. Don’t get up, Joanna, just relax. I’m not going to bite, all right?”
    She knew he was trying to get her to relax, smile even, so he could herd her in the direction he wanted. He was very good. But she didn’t want to be herded, she couldn’t afford to be.
    He sat back in his chair, laced his fingers over his belly. He said, “Tell me about your folks, Joanna. Did they teach you about the outdoors? Teach you how to ski?”
    Why not? It wouldn’t matter. “My folks were both ski instructors at Whistler Mountain, north of Vancouver. I was raised in British Columbia. As soon as I could walk, they put me on skis. We camped hiked, swam, rock-climbed, whatever else was available, in the summers, and skied in the winters.”
    “It sounds like a wonderful childhood.”
    “It was the best.” She took another sip of her coffee.
    “Are your parents still in Canada?”
    She shook her head, her lips pursed.
    He sat forward and asked quietly, “What happened, Joanna?”
    She didn’t look at him. He watched her long fingers pleat the afghan beside her. Finally, she said, “My mom passed away when I was fifteen. Then my father was killed trying to save some idiot hotdog French skiers from an avalanche. I swore on