* 79 *

Elicia looked at her. "I still don't get it. What has the decline of logging got to do with the Garouls?"

"Basically, the town believed Little Dip should be opened up for public logging. It had plentiful premium timber that the family managed for itself. Still does. Sylvie Garoul, Marie and Claude's mother, said no. And she was right to. It would have made no difference to the commercial climate of the time and possibly taken away Garoul autonomy in the valley forever."

"The Garouls always seem to have a woman in charge."

"Yes, they believe in matriarchy, all right. Hallelujah." Amy smiled as Elicia snorted into her coffee.

"Boy, these people can hold a grudge. All that was over sixty years ago."

"Well, every so often it bubbles up again over some other issue.

Connie told me it was tourism this time. There's some funding available for promoting hunting and fishing businesses. Some townsfolk thought they could benefit by providing accommodation for visiting hunters. But the best access to Silverthread is through Little Dip and Marie refused right of way down to the river, or any hunting on Garoul property. She wants to keep it strictly for family use. Hence the dark stares. The Garouls own the prime land around here outright. Have for generations, and they won't give up an inch of it. And frankly, it sticks in some people's craws. End of story. And I'm afraid there's no way I'm drinking this cup of scalding mud."

"I would understand local opinion better if the valley was neglected, but it's carefully managed and the Garouls use it all the time." Elicia also pushed her untouched drink away and stood to leave. "Guess it explains the bad service and shitty attitude. But there's no excuse for this coffee. Come on, let's head back. I think I've had enough of Lost Creek hospitality."

* 80 *

chapteR nine.

Amy was tired by the time she said good-bye to Elicia and wandered up the trail to Connie's cabin. She desperately needed a shower, and some lunch, in that order. Then she needed to set up Connie's studio for the work she planned to do later. What she didn't need was Leone Garoul sitting on her porch step scowling.

Yet here she is.

Her unwelcome visitor sat with her elbows on her knees, viciously shredding leaves from a twig as she watched Amy approach. Amy immediately scowled back, too tired to assume haughty disinterest. Leone flung the denuded twig away and strode over to meet her.

"Where were you this morning?" she demanded.

"What do you mean, where was I? I was working, and then I went into town with Elicia," Amy replied hotly. How dare Leone address her like this. What was her freakin' problem?

"Working? I waited for hours up at Big Jack. You never showed." Leone's voice was tight with held back anger.

"I was further down the ridge. I never said I was going to Big Jack, and I sure as hell didn't ask you to meet me there. In fact, I remember saying the exact opposite." Amy was too tired to hold back anything, especially her annoyance at Leone's high-handedness.

Leone glared at her, face thunderous. "You know it's dangerous to be wandering around the valley alone. You need to tell me what-"

* 81 *

"I don't want another goddamn shadow. You refuse to listen. I said I didn't need your company and I still don't."

"I'm only trying to-"

"You're trying to monitor every freakin' move I make is what you're trying to do. And it's suffocating." With that Amy pushed past Leone onto the porch. Wearily she dropped her backpack onto the wooden planks. She was about to open the door when rough hands grabbed her and spun her around.

"You need to tell me your plans. This is no joke." Leone's jaw was tight.

Amy knew Leone was on the verge of losing her temper, but she didn't care. Leone Garoul was nothing to her. She jerked her arm to try to free it but Leone's fingers tightened painfully.

"Let me go." Amy tugged again. "Now."

Instead Leone backed her up against the cabin wall, pinning her with her body. The height difference was intimidating, the cabin rough and uncomfortable against her back. Amy froze. She recognized this move from before...when they were young...when they were lovers. Leone would reach for her bottom, squeezing and massaging, then hoist her up in one quick, effortless lift. Amy would wrap her legs around Leone's waist and be kissed, and caressed, and fucked up against whatever wall, tree, vehicle, they happened to be standing by.

She also recognized the hungry glint in Leone's dark eyes. It was an old look-half forgotten. Remembered only in vague, hot, troublesome dreams that left Amy feeling lost and adrift for days afterward. A look that said I want you, I'll have you, you're mine.

Amy knew that look could swallow her whole. It had chewed her up and spat her out before.

She felt Leone's hands on her hips, ready to lift her, ready to settle her onto Leone's waist, ready to carry them straight back into the past.

"No." Amy pushed at solid shoulders, trying to gain an inch of room to slide out and get away. "No. I don't want this."

A deep growl rumbled in Leone's throat. Her hands drifted * 82 *

over the curve of Amy's buttocks and rested there, warm and heavy through the denim. Slowly she lowered her head, the growl fading away to a reverberation in her chest. Amy twisted her face away from the oncoming kiss. Leone's breath blazed across her cheek, hot and excited. Their faces were close. Too close.

"For God's sake, what are you doing? I told you I'm not interested," Amy snapped, panicking. She had no control here. She knew where they were heading and was terrified. She couldn't go there, couldn't go back.

Leone stilled. Carefully she released her grip on Amy, but she didn't step back, not one inch. Amy had to wriggle out past her, brushing up against her to escape. Heat poured off Leone like a furnace. Amy could feel her entire body tense as she squeezed slowly past her; Leone hummed like a charged bomb.

Free of her, Amy turned away and ran shaking hands through her tangled hair, her face flushed.

"Don't ever touch me like that again. We're through. You had your chance years ago and you walked away."

"I didn't want to." Leone's voice was thick and hard.

"But you did. And now it's history."

"It doesn't have-"

"It does. I called you and asked why you left so suddenly, and you said you wanted to be where you were more than with me. Well, now it's my turn to feel like that." Amy took a deep breath. "I came here to do a job. That's all. Let's concentrate on that, not the past. I don't want to keep looking over my shoulder, Leone. I want to move on with my life."

With that she walked through the door, slamming it shut behind her. She was upset, stunned, confused. Tears filled her eyes. She didn't need this on top of the day she'd had. She didn't need Leone Garoul back in her life...not like that. It amazed her that after all these years she should feel such a strong sexual pull for her. And it scared her that her teenage hurt still pulsed so close to the surface, covering every inch of her, threading through her skin like a network of poisoned veins.

* 83 *

Outside Leone stared sullenly at the closed door. Her temper had made her move too soon. But she didn't regret it. She savored it.

Amy swamped her senses. Her tongue tingled with Amy's scent.

"Look where moving on with your life brought you," she murmured to the wood planking. "Right back to me."

v Amy changed into sweats and made a light lunch before digging her library book out of her backpack. Her anger at Leone's overbearing behavior began to dissipate. In a cold, rational light she realized that Leone was as much captive of their past as she was. It had poured from her since that first night when she had pulled Amy into that boa constrictor hug, intense, suffocating, stealing all the air between them.

Amy didn't want this vacuum. All she needed to do was keep a calm head and keep Leone at a safe distance, and she could get through this. In fact, they both could. It was hormones, and...and history. And closure. Yes, they were both seeking closure. They were both raw, even after all this time. Red raw. The sexual connection was still there, strong as ever. It had not diminished. But that didn't mean they had to act on it either. She couldn't afford to be sidetracked with this nostalgic nonsense. There was an important job to do. Brimful of new resolve, she stood and moved to the studio. She had paper to stretch and a studio to set up.

Connie's studio was one large north-facing room. It got great light for most of the day, but a clever lighting system using Daylight North bulbs allowed for late night working. Connie liked to paint past midnight and into the small hours. They both found it a satisfying and relaxing way to end the day. And there was nothing more delightful for Amy than taking her field sketches and digital images and translating them into a detailed illustration.

After soaking the art paper in cold water, she fixed the edges to one of Connie's drawing boards with gummed tape. The unusual proportions required for her insets reminded her of the bastardized page size of all the Garoul's almanacs. Why is that? I must ask Marie * 84 *

more about it at supper. Amy thoughtfully crunched on the cherry candy Connie left all over her workplace. There had to be a good reason to offset the expense of nonstandard paper sizing. Amy had a lot of questions for Marie this evening.

v Work done, Amy began rinsing her hands clean in the sink when she noticed a colorful cloth draped over a small table at the back of the studio. She wandered over and lifted a corner. With a frown she pulled it completely away. Underneath was a compact workbench complete with a vise. It was littered with saws, borax, tongs, and hammers. There was even a small smelter. Connie must have been experimenting with metals. Strange, she'd never mentioned it. There were no books about it in her library either, that Amy could recall. Amy knew Connie would read everything she could get her hands on if a new interest engaged her. But there was no information on precious metals or jewelry making on her shelves, and this equipment was expensive, so she was doing more than dabbling.

Once again Amy sorely missed Connie, if only to sit down and have an illuminating conversation with her. She was sure there was a reasonable explanation for all the little mysteries that seemed to be piling up all around her. She was missing something obvious and probably very trivial. Something that would make her feel like an idiot the moment it was revealed in all its glory.

Amy replaced the cloth and returned to the kitchen. She collected the trout she'd promised Marie. It would be nice to relax with her this evening and share a glass of wine. She still had a million questions about Garoul Press and the nature of Connie's work within it. Perhaps a one-to-one chat with Marie might shed a little more light.

v Marie hugged her warmly when she arrived, gift in hand.

"My goodness, this is a big fella. There'll be plenty for supper, * 85 *

and unless Leone joins us, leftovers for tomorrow's lunch." She took the wrapped fish to the kitchen to prepare it for the broiler.

"You should have seen the fight he put up." Amy followed her, relaying a blow-by-blow account of her fishing exploits.

She grabbed her usual seat by the kitchen counter and sat and watched Marie's movements as she put together supper. Marie looked tired. There were dark rings under her eyes, and now that Amy noticed, she was a little disheveled. Her clothes were crumpled, her long hair needed combing, and her hands were covered with deep scratches that disappeared under her cuffs.

"Marie? Are you okay? You've got some nasty scratches there."

"Oh, they're nothing. I was out foraging in the undergrowth and got cut. I got back here too late to clean up."

Amy felt guilty. "I'll look after dinner. You go jump in the shower." But already Marie was shaking her head.

"I'll have a long soak in the tub later." She gave Amy a pleasant smile but her eyes were flat with sadness and exhaustion. "I'm okay, Amy. Just tired. Fetch me the creamer, dear. It's in the fridge. Top shelf."

Amy did as she was asked, knowing that any further questions would not be welcomed. But she was curious and concerned. Wild herb foraging did not abuse the body to the extent of Marie's cuts, bruises, and general fatigue. Whatever she had been up to, it had taken a lot out of her, though her manner was as relaxed and calm as ever.

Leone didn't show up for supper. Instead, Amy and Marie opened a chilled Semillon to enjoy with the fish. Part of Amy was relieved not to have to face Leone so soon after their sexual friction.

Another part wanted to know how it had affected her. Only now did Amy feel distanced enough to examine the afternoon's standoff.

It all was immaterial anyway. Leone had sloped off, and Amy had come here tonight to ask an entirely different set of questions.

"Marie?" Amy broached the subject that had been bothering her since last night's editorial meeting. "I looked at some of Connie's previous work in the older almanacs. I found an illustration with * 86 *

similar marks to the ones you wanted me to add to the goldenseal paintings."

Marie glanced over, immediately engaged. "What illustration would that be, Amy? Can you tell me the year?"

"Umm." Amy had not expected the question. "The plant was angelica, and I think it was ninety-seven. Why do you need to know?"

Marie shrugged. "Just trying to recall if I can remember anything unusual about that year, but I'm afraid I can't think of anything offhand."

"So, what are these marks about? And don't tell me it's cataloguing or a form of Connie's signature, because I won't buy it." Marie carefully pushed aside her plate. "I can't say I fully understand the system. It's a form of classification that will allow us to pull together an anniversary almanac at some point in the future.

Hence asking you the year of the angelica marks. It's important to Leone that the goldenseal illustrations are treated in the same way.

I'm sure there's nothing more to it than a special Garoul almanac edition."

Amy still looked skeptical.

"Come here." Marie stood and moved toward her office. "Let me show you what Leone's working on aside from this year's almanac."

Amy rose to follow her into the small back room. Marie's desktop computer was shut down but Leone's laptop sat blinking.

Marie tapped the keyboard and Leone's screensaver flared. Bosch's Garden of Earthly Delights danced before them.

"What are we looking at here?" Amy asked.

Their heads met over the screen, Marie's hair cascading forward in a dark wave. She reached up and twisted it into a more manageable knot behind her head. Amy glanced over, eyes widening. Marie's neck flashed through the swirl of hair. Dark red scratches ran from her hairline to under the loose collar of her shirt. They disappeared in a flash of ebony and silver so quickly Amy thought her eyes had deceived her.

* 87 *

"God, Marie-" she blurted before she could stop herself. It was none of her business. She blushed wildly as Marie stared at her with guarded eyes. "What is it with the Garouls and that pig-ugly painting?" She waved a hand at the Bosch screensaver.

Her awkward save worked. She received a rueful smile and shrug from Marie before she clicked to pull out some document folders for Amy to see.

"This is a mock-up of the four hundredth anniversary edition to come out two years from now," Marie said.

"Wow, four hundred years. I never knew the Garoul Press went back that far."

"Further, if you count the French Garouls who arrived in New France in the late fifteen hundreds. In old Europe they were a publishing family, too. The Garouls have been around forever in one shape or form." Marie smiled proudly. "But this almanac is to celebrate our migration to the Americas and the eventual formation of a new Garoul Press."

For the next hour they discussed Leone's anniversary edition ideas, and the history of the Garoul Press on this side of the Atlantic.

Yvette Garoul had arrived disguised as a man in the early sixteen hundreds. She had become a fur trapper and traveled across the continent, eventually arriving in the Pacific Northwest. There had been some interbreeding with the local tribes, and before long she had claimed the Silverthread valley for her growing family. It was an amazing story that Amy never tired of hearing. It had snared her imagination as a child and never let go. The original French family had faded into obscurity a long time ago, though Marie believed direct descendants were scattered all across Europe and beyond.

Amy checked her watch and stood. "I'd better go. It's much later than I intended. I had hoped to work in the studio for a few hours tonight, but I'm too tired now."

"Rest and get an early start in the morning." Marie accompanied her to the door.

"Get those scratches seen to. They look mean."

"I'm going to jump in a hot bath with some alder bark and vinegar. With a night's good sleep I'll be fine." Marie looked out * 88 *

across the compound, a faint frown creasing her brow. "I wish Leone had been here to explain everything. She'll be annoyed she's missed you."

"Oh, there'll be other times." Amy was diplomatic; perhaps it was best not to mention she'd seen Leone earlier that afternoon and as usual they'd sparked hard enough to be a fire hazard. All she wanted to do now was to relax with her library codebook and mull over what Marie had just told her about an anniversary almanac. It felt as if she had another part of the puzzle in her hands, but she was not sure how it all fit, at least not yet. With time it would. Amy was nothing if not tenacious. She stepped down from the porch toward the path home.

"Thanks for supper, Marie. I'll drop by tomorrow after I get caught up on my work. Good night."

"Good night, Amy. Sleep well."