her.
“Sure,” the girl said. “Keep on going up Main Street, when you hit the third light from here—you go left on Dawson Street. Follow that all the way down to the end.
Then you go right on Wilmington Road. And then you’ll see the signs.”
“Would you happen to know of a small cabin right around that area, near the lake?”
The girl laughed. “Sorry, there’s got to be at least a dozen cabins that fit that description,” she said.
“Oh, okay. Thanks again!” Nicole said, her heart sinking. A dozen cabins?
Would she even be able to find them all? And then even if she did—what would she do?
Would she walk up to each and every cabin, knock and hope that Red would come to the door?
Still, she tried not to let herself get discouraged. She had about two or three more hours of daylight and maybe she’d get lucky. If not, she’d have to find the nearest motel to hole up in and start looking again in the morning.
A few minutes later, she arrived at Beauford Farms and a store that sold all kinds of stuff; canned jams, apple cider donuts, fresh produce grown on the premises.
There was a sprightly white-haired lady standing next to a register. She greeted Nicole with a very friendly smile and asked if she could help her find anything.
“Actually, yes. But not something in this store.”
The older woman’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Oh?”
Nicole began describing the cabin and its possible location, but the woman stopped her mid-description. “Hold on a sec. Let me get my husband, he knows everything within fifty miles of here.” And she waddled off to a door that led to a back room.
A moment later, she reappeared with her husband, a tall man—though the years seemed to have bent him over. He wore brown slacks, suspenders, and an off-white collared shirt. His whole body was browned from years toiling in the sun, but his light blue eyes were kind. “My wife says you’re looking for someone in a nearby cabin.”
Nicole went through all the details she knew about the place from what Jeb had told her—which admittedly wasn’t much.
The old man nodded. When she was through talking, he shook his head. “There are a few cabins it could be. A lot of cabins by the lake, and a few that border this farmland too. Could even be one or two I don’t know about.”
“Maybe you’ve met the man who’s staying there?” Nicole said, grasping at straws now. “He’s definitely not from around here. He’s in his early thirties, curly dark hair, kind of exotic looking—“
Suddenly the old man’s eyes lit up in recognition and he clapped his hands. “Oh, shoot—I know exactly who you mean. I must be losing my mind after all, I should have thought of him right away.”
Nicole’s heart was galloping again, practically pounding through her chest.
The old man continued. “He came in here about a week ago and asked about getting himself a fishing license. We talked a little about that, I gave him the lay of the land. He seemed to be growing a new beard.” The old man chuckled about that. “He kept scratching at it like it was bugging him.”
“And he told you where he’s staying?”
“I’m sorry, us old folks get sidetracked too easily,” he said, putting a gnarled old hand on her shoulder. “Yes, he mentioned that his cabin’s over near our apple trees, just on the outskirts of our farm. I can show you how to get there.”
“Thank you so much,” Nicole gushed.
“Glad we could help.”
Nicole and the old man went outside the store and he told her how to get to the cabin. It was just back up the road about half a mile, and then she was to turn right onto an unmarked dirt road next to the big red barn.
The whole thing was like something out of a movie, she thought.
She gave the old man a hug and he smiled at her, told her good luck.
Then Nicole was back in her car, driving faster than she should have been, her hands gripping the steering wheel as if it might
“Sure,” the girl said. “Keep on going up Main Street, when you hit the third light from here—you go left on Dawson Street. Follow that all the way down to the end.
Then you go right on Wilmington Road. And then you’ll see the signs.”
“Would you happen to know of a small cabin right around that area, near the lake?”
The girl laughed. “Sorry, there’s got to be at least a dozen cabins that fit that description,” she said.
“Oh, okay. Thanks again!” Nicole said, her heart sinking. A dozen cabins?
Would she even be able to find them all? And then even if she did—what would she do?
Would she walk up to each and every cabin, knock and hope that Red would come to the door?
Still, she tried not to let herself get discouraged. She had about two or three more hours of daylight and maybe she’d get lucky. If not, she’d have to find the nearest motel to hole up in and start looking again in the morning.
A few minutes later, she arrived at Beauford Farms and a store that sold all kinds of stuff; canned jams, apple cider donuts, fresh produce grown on the premises.
There was a sprightly white-haired lady standing next to a register. She greeted Nicole with a very friendly smile and asked if she could help her find anything.
“Actually, yes. But not something in this store.”
The older woman’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Oh?”
Nicole began describing the cabin and its possible location, but the woman stopped her mid-description. “Hold on a sec. Let me get my husband, he knows everything within fifty miles of here.” And she waddled off to a door that led to a back room.
A moment later, she reappeared with her husband, a tall man—though the years seemed to have bent him over. He wore brown slacks, suspenders, and an off-white collared shirt. His whole body was browned from years toiling in the sun, but his light blue eyes were kind. “My wife says you’re looking for someone in a nearby cabin.”
Nicole went through all the details she knew about the place from what Jeb had told her—which admittedly wasn’t much.
The old man nodded. When she was through talking, he shook his head. “There are a few cabins it could be. A lot of cabins by the lake, and a few that border this farmland too. Could even be one or two I don’t know about.”
“Maybe you’ve met the man who’s staying there?” Nicole said, grasping at straws now. “He’s definitely not from around here. He’s in his early thirties, curly dark hair, kind of exotic looking—“
Suddenly the old man’s eyes lit up in recognition and he clapped his hands. “Oh, shoot—I know exactly who you mean. I must be losing my mind after all, I should have thought of him right away.”
Nicole’s heart was galloping again, practically pounding through her chest.
The old man continued. “He came in here about a week ago and asked about getting himself a fishing license. We talked a little about that, I gave him the lay of the land. He seemed to be growing a new beard.” The old man chuckled about that. “He kept scratching at it like it was bugging him.”
“And he told you where he’s staying?”
“I’m sorry, us old folks get sidetracked too easily,” he said, putting a gnarled old hand on her shoulder. “Yes, he mentioned that his cabin’s over near our apple trees, just on the outskirts of our farm. I can show you how to get there.”
“Thank you so much,” Nicole gushed.
“Glad we could help.”
Nicole and the old man went outside the store and he told her how to get to the cabin. It was just back up the road about half a mile, and then she was to turn right onto an unmarked dirt road next to the big red barn.
The whole thing was like something out of a movie, she thought.
She gave the old man a hug and he smiled at her, told her good luck.
Then Nicole was back in her car, driving faster than she should have been, her hands gripping the steering wheel as if it might
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