"Who was visiting?" Gavin finally asked as we passed on one of our rounds.
"Some guy named Weldon Harper and his son Daryl," I said. I wasn't expecting his swift intake of breath. "What? Who is he?" I demanded, stopping short and staring at Gavin.
"It's better that you don't know," Gavin replied enigmatically. "For your own safety."
"Crap," I mumbled. "Was I in danger tonight?"
"No more so than you usually are," Gavin replied cryptically. "Don't ask any questions about him, Lissa. This is important." He gripped my shoulder—hard.
"All right," I huffed, pulling away from his grasp. His fingers digging into my skin hurt a little. We finished out our shift and I was more than glad to get a shower and climb into bed just as dawn was announcing its arrival.
"Are you going to cook for us tonight?" Whitney had a hopeful look in her eyes when I walked into the house the following evening.
"What do you want?" I asked. "I could run into Port Aransas to that little grocery store they have if you tell me what you'd like."
"Can you make chicken and dumplings? I haven't had that in three years," she was pouting a little.
"How old are you?" I asked.
"I just turned twenty, two months ago," she brightened up a little.
"Well then, as a belated birthday present, I'll make chicken and dumplings for you. Tell Winkler I went to the store," I said. Phil, Glen and Davis were all lounging around the kitchen and they heard me, so I guess that was good enough if she did forget to tell her brother.
Whitney got chicken and dumplings about an hour and a half later, plus peanut butter cookies. I don't know where she or any of those men, for that matter, puts all that food. They never gain an ounce. I'd gotten my meal in town, behind the post office. Just about anybody would have thought I was necking with the man and he certainly enjoyed it. "Where are Sam and Todd?" I asked while I picked up plates.
"Sam went home to spend a couple of days with his dad before going back to school," Whitney grumbled. "Todd works for Sam's dad, so he drove Sam to his dad's ranch."
"That was really good, Lissa," Winkler said, changing the subject. "You're spoiling us," he rubbed his stomach. "The cook we have in Dallas can't do chicken and dumplings like that."
"You can always look for another cook," I said and shut the door of the dishwasher, turning it on. "I'm off to trot around the property."
* * *
That was Thursday night. I was just getting out of bed Friday night when Davis came knocking on my door.
Gavin was already up and not looking happy about it, I noticed. He and Davis were standing outside when I opened my bedroom door. "What's going on?" I asked, confused. Davis was worried about something.
"Whitney's gone and we can't find her," Davis said, worry creasing his brow. "We found evidence that she walked out to the mailbox. That's what she told us she was going to do, but we found no trace of her when she didn't come back to the house. Winkler's about to tear the place apart. We're hoping you can help us out with this."
His eyes were begging me to be able to help them out with this. The truth was, I probably wouldn't have a better clue than they did about what had happened. "Did you find the mail or anything else she might have left behind?"
"There were a couple of flyers on the ground. Phil picked those up and brought them to the house," Davis said. "But we can't find anything unusual about them."
"Fuck," I muttered, running a hand through my hair. It hung three inches past my shoulders and was long enough to braid or pull up in a clip if I wanted. "Let me get dressed." I was still in my pajamas, my feet bare.
"All right, but hurry it up, willya?" Davis left the guesthouse.
"I suppose you're going to wait the usual twenty-four hours before doing anything?" I asked Gavin minutes later as I hastily stuffed a foot into one of my black athletic shoes. He shrugged as I ran out the door. Hot and cold. That was Gavin. It made me wonder if he cared about anything. The mail that Phil picked up was sitting on the kitchen island, so I held it to my nose and sniffed discreetly. Whitney's scent was fresh. Two other scents were Phil and possibly the mailman.
Winkler barreled into the room, ready to explode. No way did I want to stand in front of the man when he was like this and I was a vampire.
"Where does Sam live?" I asked, worried that Winkler might take the house and a few people apart. "You know Whitney has a crush on him."
"What?" Winkler thundered.
"They like each other, doofus. Have you checked with him?" It was possible—he had a cell, she had a cell. I assumed they'd exchanged numbers.
"Probably not a good idea to call the boss doofus when he's like this," Davis whispered in my ear.
"Gotcha," I said, allowing Davis to back me away from Winkler, who now appeared to be growling.
"Sam lives between Alice and Freer," Glen said, punching a number into his cell phone. With my hearing, I could hear it ringing from where I was standing. The conversation came in loud and clear, too.
"Hello," a man answered, and it wasn't the Sam I knew.
"This is Glen Danford," Glen said. "Is Sam Jr. there?"
"I wondered when you'd call," the voice said. "I'm afraid Whitney and Sam managed to get a marriage license three days ago. They got married this afternoon and only called a few minutes ago to let me know. They're on their way here now."
"Oh, lord," I muttered. Winkler went crazy.
"Get out of the house, get out of the house," Davis had a hard grip on my upper arm and was dragging me out the French doors and onto the deck as Winkler raged inside the house. "Go down the beach, go somewhere. Just get the hell away from here. I'll call when it's safe," Davis almost flung me down the steps leading to the beach.
I ran. Not as fast as I could go, mind you, but pretty fast, anyway. While I ran, my brain worked furiously. I figured Sam might be in trouble if Winkler caught up with him anytime soon. Sam was a good kid and I didn't want anything happening to him. Skidding to a stop on the sandy beach, I turned on a dime and trotted toward the garage, punching numbers into my cell phone as I went.
I knew Sam's last name and hoped he was listed in the phone book. It took a few minutes to call information on my cell phone, since the reception on the beach sucked. Seconds ticked away while I waited for an answer. After getting an operator, I asked if there was a listing for Sam Sheridan.