Nowhere to Hide by Nancy Bush Page B

young. Lots of women get pregnant in their late thirties and into their forties.”
    “But it gets harder and harder, not the other way around. We all know that . . . and now Rosamund . . .” She exhaled heavily.
    “Well, what about Dash? Maybe things’ll happen between you two,” September suggested lightly.
    “Dash and I are just friends. He’s . . . it’s not like that.” She shook her head.
    July looked pensive and September wondered what the deal was between them. September had watched Dash as he’d wandered around The Willows at July’s birthday party. The long-haired guitarist had a lean, hungry look about him that held September’s attention. He’d seemed familiar, somehow, and she’d wondered, for a moment, if he’d been involved in a crime, but the penny hadn’t dropped and it was July’s party and September didn’t want to ruin it, so she let it go.
    “I heard you’d moved back with Dad,” September said into the silence.
    “Temporarily. Rosamund had a shit-fit over it, so I decided to stay longer than I’d originally planned.”
    “Good thinking.” September smiled.
    “I sold my house. It needed so many repairs it was a money-suck like you’ve never seen. Anyway, I’m trying to get a place closer to the vineyard.” She gave September a considering look. “What about you? Still chasing after killers with Auggie? I hate Channel Seven news, but Dash watches it and he told me he saw you with that woman reporter who’s such a bitch.”
    “Pauline Kirby . . .”
    “So, some sicko really wrote something on that body you found?”
    “Yes . . .”
    “She warned us all to lock our doors. Is that for real?”
    “We don’t know enough yet.” September thought about bringing up her artwork, but decided against it for the moment. “We’re still investigating,” she added, then July was called by the foreman in charge of the harvest and September headed toward her car. She’d been toying with the idea of stopping in at Westerly Vale; she knew that Jake’s brother Colin and his wife had taken over the running of the vineyard and she thought maybe approaching them first might help warm her up for the interview with Jake.
    But then . . . Jake himself had called out to her. Could that be mere coincidence? She’d recognized his voice immediately, and in mild shock she’d turned to meet him while strange sensations chased up and down her spine as she looked upon her long ago crush.
    Jake Westerly. She’d sorta hoped he’d aged poorly. She’d sorta hoped that she would take one look at him and wonder what the big deal was. But no . . . one eyeful and she was thrown back to that May night among the vines with a skinny crescent moon riding overhead and the scent of loam and vines and strawberry and peach coolers hanging on the warm air. She’d lost her virginity right there and then, and though she’d never regretted it—hell, no, she’d cherished the memory—she did sometimes wish she’d just picked someone a little more emotionally available. Maybe even someone she could have had a relationship with of some kind. Sure, they’d been kids but sometimes those relationships had real weight and even lasted.
    And then T.J. and his announcement that Jake had been looking for a virgin. She knew T.J. was a bastard, and you couldn’t believe half the things he said. Nicknaming Barbara “Bambi” sort of spoke for itself. But that said, it had still stung to hear his words.
    So, yeah. She’d wanted Jake to be a dog, but he was still just as handsome, tall, lean, and athletic as ever, his hair still dark brown and maybe a little longer behind his ears, his cool, gray eyes lit with inner amusement as he gazed upon her.
    He looked . . . good enough to eat, and it really pissed her off.
    Now, she tried to review their conversation, but her mind kept circling around to the same two issues: 1) that he’d realized she’d been wondering about his involvement with Sheila, and 2) whether she’d