North Country Man. Carrie AlexanderЧитать онлайн книгу.
beard—but it turned out to be no big deal. He helped get my car back on the road, is all.”
Cassia wheeled closer. “What was his name? Was he good-looking?”
“I didn’t get his name. And between all his hair and all his—” Muscle. Her face was growing warm. “All the darkness, I mean….”
“Ooh. A mystery man.”
“No. Really. He was—” Claire didn’t know why her heart was beating so fast. Why her palms were clammy. Why she couldn’t calm the jitters in her belly. “He was just some backwoods character. Lives out of the way, I take it. He had a bear cub.”
“That’d be Noah Saari,” Toivo put in.
Cassia clasped her hands together. “Wow, Claire—you saw Noah Saari!”
“Noah?” Claire’s tongue felt thick. “Is the name supposed to mean something to me?”
Toivo rocked on his heels, making the flyaway strands of hair waver about his bald pate. “Noah’s a local fella. Did us proud, fighting that big forest fire out west a coupla years ago. Some of us, leastaways.” The elfin face grew serious. “Came home a changed man. Different in the head, they say.”
“Noah Saari’s sort of a local legend.” Cassia touched her steepled fingers to her chin, sighing lustfully. “He returned to Alouette as a hero, but ever since he’s been living way out in the boonies. He hardly ever comes to town.” She beamed at Claire. “And you met him! That’s so cool!”
Claire’s answering smile was weak. She’d done nothing but run her car off the road and attempt to outrun a bear, but here was Cassia, leaning closer, her expression one of awe.
“Did you get a good look at him?” the redhead asked, nearly breathless. “Did you get to—did you see—” She stopped and took a deep breath before asking, “Did you see his scars?”
CHAPTER THREE
“HIS SCARS?” Claire barely heard her echo. She was thinking about Noah Saari’s face. Did he have scars? She couldn’t say; there’d been too much beard. A little chill gripped her. Scars. The poor guy. Was that why he’d grown so much hair?
“Facial scars,” Cassia said. “That’s the rumor. I don’t know if anyone has actually seen them.”
“Myron has,” Toivo said.
Cassia rolled her eyes. “Oh, Myron! You can’t believe a word he says.”
“Sure you can.” Toivo hitched up his pants. “Myron was visiting the Saaris the day Noah came home after the fire. The boy hadn’t grown a beard yet. Myron seen his face. Seen it clearly.” Toivo nodded emphatically, rocking on his heels, all the motion making his round belly jiggle. “Myron says the scars were red. Infamed. Up the side of Noah’s face, down into his collar. Mebbe they go right to his toes. They say his clothes got burnt right off him in the big blaze.”
“You don’t know that,” Cassia protested. She shook her head at Claire. “He does not know. Myron Mykkanen is the biggest gossip in town. He tells a good story, but he exaggerates like crazy.”
“Scars from head to toe,” Toivo said. “That’s what Myron says.”
“Toivo’s partner in crime,” Cassia stage-whispered.
Claire swallowed. “Well, I didn’t see any scars.” Even to her own ears, she sounded unsure.
“What did you see?” Both Cassia and Toivo looked highly interested.
“Very little.”
“Aw, c’mon.” Cassia rubbed her delicate hands together. “How often do we hear of an honest-to-goodness Noah Saari sighting? He’s been hiding away in that cabin ever since he came back to Alouette. The only person who sees him regularly is Wild Rose, who works at the Buck Stop, where Noah buys groceries. And she’s not very talkative.” Cassia sighed. “Won’t give away a single fun detail, even when I beg and cajole.”
Toivo joined in. “Noah’s parents don’t see him much, neither, not since he fixed up the cabin. Back when, the mayor and Sheriff Bob wanted to give Noah a medal, but he flat-out refused. Always was the quiet type.”
“There was only mention of a medal, Toivo. Don’t you remember the fuss that that Terry Lindstrom kicked up? The mayor wouldn’t go against the Lindstroms,” she advised Claire. “They’re one of the founding families who live on the hill. That’s their house, right next door.”
“I can’t see anything from my window but water and trees,” Claire said, then remembered her glimpse of the neighboring house from the Bay House parking area. And the unfriendly man.
“Trust me,” Cassia muttered darkly, “they’re there. It’s the big white house. The Lindstroms live there with their oldest son, Terry.”
Toivo chuckled. “You’re just holding a grudge because of the way the youngest boy used to tease you—”
“I’m not listening,” Cassia sang, pressing the toggle on the controls of her chair and moving smoothly into the jungle of the foyer. “I’ll talk to you later, Claire,” she called over her shoulder. “I want the inside scoop!”
Claire gave a small wave. There was no inside scoop. She was, however, even more intrigued than before. This Noah fellow was a character, apparently. They didn’t seem to think he was dangerous, though. She remembered her instinctive retreat when he’d loomed over her, seven intimidating feet—or so it had seemed—of muscle and hair and animal magnetism. She could picture white teeth and the way his hard eyes had softened with whimsy, but the rest was a blur. She’d been worried about being ravaged by a bear. Who knew she should have been looking for scars?
Claire slipped on the light jacket she’d brought downstairs. Even though it was a sunny spring day, she didn’t intend to be caught underdressed again. At the front door, she stopped and looked at Toivo, who was watching her with interest. Gossip, she thought.
“I’m going to look for my purse.” It wasn’t that she was scared. The wise thing was to tell someone where she was going. Just in case. “On the road leading into town—I forget—”
“County road 525.”
“Right. That one.” She fixed her collar as she stepped onto the porch. “I’ll be back shortly.”
Toivo came to the door. “You won’t see him. Not ’less he wants ya to.”
Claire hurried away without looking back. No use explaining herself, even though the innkeeper’s words followed her as she drove down the hill. Between Toivo and Cassia, the entire household would soon be thinking she’d gone looking for Noah Saari, mysterious man of the wilderness, when all she wanted was to retrieve her purse. Really. If Noah was a recluse, she wouldn’t dream of barging in on him. He’d been kind to her, but they weren’t friends. His life—and scars—was none of her business. She couldn’t interfere.
Just because she was fascinated…
Just because she was cursed…
Claire made a scoffing sound as she reached the bottom of the hill and slowed to make her turn. The story of Valentina was no more than a colorful fable to tell the guests. The Bel Vista publicity department would eat it up. They might even market it. Valentina soaps, candles, sachets. Valentina postcards. Cliff-side tours. Maybe even a Valentina reenactment every year on the fateful wedding date.
It would be awful. But they’d make money. And so would the town. Emmie and Toivo would be well paid for the marketing rights to their family name, if they had the foresight not to sell them along with the house.
Would they? The question gnawed at Claire, a good sign that she was already too involved in these people’s lives. She was supposed to swoop in, gather information, make a report and then leave the negotiations to the corporation. No need to start worrying