Heart Of Gold by Bird Jessica Read Free Book Online Page A

The man moved with the
quiet grace of an expert woodsman, his footsteps silent over the ground.
    “I
know.”
    “So
what're you doing up here?”
    “He
was just showing me the view,” Carter said, hoping to deflect the
criticism.
    The man
looked at her and shifted the gun up to his shoulder. Closer to firing
position.
    “And
I think I've seen enough,” she added quickly.
    “So
do I,” came his dark answer.
    The march
back down the mountain was grim. The woodsman followed behind them like a
prison guard, and Carter was thinking it had been a mistake to go up to the
site. Farrell wasn't going to change his mind and all she'd done was torture
herself with impossibilities.
    As well
as volunteer for a brush with death.
    When they
cleared the forest, Carter thanked Cort and got in her car. As she drove off,
she saw in her rearview mirror that the woodsman was watching her go.
    It was
obvious who almost shot Lyst, she thought.
    Heading
to the ferry that would take her home, she burned with frustration. It was a
hell of an opportunity, and she wished her meeting with Farrell hadn't gone so
badly. But how could she have expected anything different? Her reception had
been no better than others of her ilk had gotten and at least she hadn't faced
down the business end of that shotgun.
    The side
view had been more than enough to get her attention.
    When she
got home, she called Grace with the disappointing news.
    “It's
a no go,” Carter said while going out to the back porch. She looked over
her meadow as the sun set. “I guess my negotiating skills aren't what they
used to be.”
    Although
she seemed to have acrimonious arguing down pat, she reflected, remembering the
sparks that had flown in Farrell's study.
    “Well,
maybe it's for the best. Lyst's cross is a fake,” Grace muttered. “We
gave it a thorough examination this morning. It's no older than the chicken
salad I had for lunch at the club.”
    “Somehow
that doesn't surprise me. Still, I feel like there's something up there.”
    “Is
that optimism I hear?” Her friend teased. “From the woman who
announced that finding anything on that mountain would be like winning the
lottery?”
    “Grace,
I saw the site. It's amazing, just as Farnsworth described it.”
    Her
friend laughed with admiration. “How'd you pull that off?”
    “I
had a tour guide.”
    “Farrell?”
    “Not
bloody likely. His nephew sneaked me up.” Carter paused. “I'm telling
you, there's something at that site. I could feel it in the dirt.”
    Grace
sighed. “Too bad Farrell's so difficult.”
    “Difficult
is too nice a word for that man.”
    Their
conversation drifted in other directions, but when Carter hung up later, Farrell Mountain was all she could think about. When the phone rang again, she figured it
was Grace calling back, still on the fence over whether or not to buy a
painting she loved.
    Carter picked
up with a laugh. “Look, I told you to accept your fate. If you're going to
buy the Thomas Cole, you need to belly up to the fact that you're a Hudson River School junkie. Just because everyone else is buying modern, doesn't mean you
have to.”
    “Thanks
for the advice but I collect Old Masters.” Nick Farrell's deep voice
burned in her ear. “Even the turn-of-the-nineteenth-century's too new for
my taste.”
    “How
did you get this number?” Carter blurted, jerking to attention.
    “802-555-1212.
James Earl Jones said I could be connected for an extra charge but I dialed it
myself.” .
    “What
do you want?”
    In the
background, she could hear voices and the clinking of crystal.
    “I've
been thinking about our conversation,” he drawled.
    His
arrogance made her prickle. “Funny, I've been trying to forget it.”
    “I
understand you went up the mountain.”
    She
hesitated. “Don't blame Cort.”
    “Tell
me again why you want to dig.”
    Frustration
swelled in her chest.
    “What
for? You've already turned me down. And you should know that Lyst's find wasn't
legit.