A Summer in Sonoma by Robyn Carr Read Free Book Online

the detectives might be interested in what information I have….”
    â€œYou can come in and make a report.”
    â€œCan I just talk to someone?” she asked impatiently. Then she was connected to voice mail; the voice was male, and she left her name, cell phone number and said the very same thing—setup, close call, barely escaped, she had information. She didn’t get a call back. After a few days, she gave up on that. She hadn’t found the police real receptive; she wasn’t about to beg. She had absolutely no charge to file.
    â€œHere’s how I see it,” Billy said. “They’re busy, you’re okay and, under the circumstances, that guy isn’t going to show his face around that bar or that part of town again. Since he doesn’t know whether you actually talked to the police, gave a description of him and the car and all that, and since he left you with some big bruiser who broke a car window with his fist, he’s probably going to make himself real invisible.” Then he shook his head and laughed. “With his fist . Holy shit, huh? I bet he’s just glad the guy didn’t kill him.”
    â€œYeah, maybe…”
    Her phone didn’t ring, no one bothered her—the police apparently weren’t interested in close calls—and she began to relax about that. I dodged a bullet, she saidto herself. And I’m not going to be in that position again. Then she did settle down; she and Steve curled up and slept soundly.
    All Cassie was left with was a need to get beyond it. Not just the assault, but the position she’d allowed herself to drift into, needing a partner so bad her judgment was impaired. She needed to clear her head. So she wasn’t going to date for a while. If anyone offered a fix-up, she’d politely decline. If she ever went to another happy hour—and definitely not at that bar—she’d buy her own drinks or leave. For the rest of the summer, at least, she’d enjoy walking Steve along the river, reading and watching movies and tending her little backyard vegetable garden, which produced tomatoes and lettuce, carrots and enough zucchini to sink a battleship. Julie lived for Cassie’s summer produce. She would work—she loved her work; it defined her. And she would think. Something was wrong with the way she’d been handling this part of her life.
    So maybe her first choice was to be a wife and mother, but her second option was definitely all right—a career that felt completely right, a decent income, friends she trusted who felt like family even if they really weren’t and pastimes that relaxed and soothed her. She thought about getting a puppy in a year or two—a backup Weimaraner. She’d probably never get a dog as great as Steve, but she wasn’t going to have Steve forever. She shouldn’t be without a pet; there was no point in setting herself up to be so alone she could hear her nerves fray.
    For now, she would swear off men. At least, she would give up on the notion that there was a special one out there, just waiting for her to find him.
    After a couple of weeks, once she felt a little more secure, she went to that motorcycle dealership on her way home from work one day. It turned out to be a Harley Davidson franchise. There were shiny new bikes parked out front on either side of a sidewalk, twinkling in the summer sun. She walked into the pristine showroom. Behind the counter was a guy in a blue shirt, camel-colored sports coat and pink tie, looking for all the world like a used-car salesman. He grinned that car-salesman grin and said, “How can I help you?”
    She stared down at the business card in her hand and said, “Um, I wonder if a man named Walt Arneson might be here?”
    â€œWalt? Let me ask in the back.” And he turned and left her to browse among the bikes. She found herself running a hand along the chrome of a particularly big