Chapter 1
Five years later...
Jackson Barrister flew down the highway as fast as the Tennessee hills would allow. He was mad. He was fuming! The argument with his dad kept replaying over and over in his mind.
"Jack, it's gotta stop! It's gotta stop right now! What's wrong with you, Son? Why can't you find a decent woman and settle down? God knows you're old enough. Your brother's two years your junior, and he has three kids." Mike Barrister paced from one side of his huge office to the other. Mike did his thinking that way. And right then, he thought he would enjoy throttling his eldest son.
"You've forgotten what it's like to be young," Jack felt motivated to say. "You sowed your share of wild oats, or so I've been told." That elicited an unwanted reaction from the older man.
"Don't ever compare my youthful shenanigans with the things you're doin'," Mike yelled. When he became really stirred up, he tended to drop his fifty dollar college words and revert to his dad's earthier language. "I had respect for the fairer sex. You just mow 'um down. Not only do you not respect 'um, you don't even like 'um. But this latest affair is the last straw. I told you to stay away from that girl, but would you listen? No. She's only eighteen and the daughter of a good client. Used to be, anyway."
"Now, wait a minute. Don't go painting that little number innocent. She knew exactly what she wanted," Jack defended himself. "And I didn't take a thing she wasn't dying to give." Jack grew almost as angry as his father. That little baggage had chased him all over town until he gave in just to get rid of her. Afterward, Gina Lambert ran to Mama and cried big crocodile tears, hoping to trap him into marriage. No way. But what chance did he have of convincing the rest of the world the girl's bad morals weren't his fault if his own father didn't believe him? The look on Dad's face said he didn't.
"Yes, I suppose that's the real problem," Mike murmured thoughtfully. "You've always had everything handed to you without ever having to put forth any effort. Even the money you lavish on your 'entertainment' is paid into your account whether you do a lick of work or not." Mike trained his dark brown eyes on his eldest until Jack started to feel woolly worms dancing in his belly. Mike didn't wait a minute longer before he leaned forward and delivered a dreadful verdict. "Boy, you're breaking Mama's heart, and I tell you, it's gotta stop. And I'm the one who's gonna stop it."
At that instant, Jack feared Dad's declaration didn't bode well for him. "Take it easy, Dad." Belatedly, Jack thought to use a little of his famous charm. "I understand how you feel." That assertion brought another unwelcome response.
"Do you?" Mike narrowed his eyes. "I'm not sure you do, but I am sure you're about to find out." He stopped pacing and returned to his desk, seating his long, slightly rotund body in his overstuffed office chair. He leaned back in his master-of-all-I-survey position and stared at Jack intently, taking stock of the handsome young man.
Mike felt proud of his son, and with good reason. Jack, still in his prime at twenty nine, stood a quarter inch short of six feet. Superbly built with wide shoulders, narrow hips, and long legs--Jack was all lean, hard muscle. He had a narrow face, a straight nose, and a wide mouth with full lips. His hair was dark sable brown, and his eyes were the color of rich, hot chocolate. Women found him irresistible. Usually his father did, too, but not that day. Mike had gazed at Jack until he felt uneasy, then Dad shook his head, sighed, and informed the younger man of his shocking decree.
"I've been remiss with you, Son, and it's high time I corrected my mistake." Mike shuffled a few papers until he found the one he wanted and handed the memo to Jack. "That nice automatic payment that goes into your bank account every month is terminated as of today." He continued talking right over the gasp that erupted from Jack's wide open mouth. "From now on you'll be punching a time clock just like the rest of my employees. You'll be paid according to the job you're actually doing."
Jack tried to object, but he barely sputtered before Mike continued.
"You'll be starting under old Dan Weaver. He's putting together a project I've been planning for five years. The change in status will transfer you out of town for a while and away from this latest mess you've created. Maybe, just maybe, it'll remind you of the values you seem to have lost over the years." Mike looked at his oldest son with a suspicious sheen in his eyes, but his firm voice told Jack there might be tenderness in his sire, but no softness.
That had been two months ago. Okay, maybe he deserved punishment. His lifestyle definitely leaned a little toward the wild side. Somewhere along the road, Jack joined up with a group of rich kids who had a taste for decadence. He couldn't say now why he started hanging out with them. Their actions weren't his style, at least not in the beginning. He couldn't remember exactly when he started treating women like toys instead of people, sex objects to be used and thrown away. He hadn't been aware of the change in himself until that confrontation with Mike. He still had trouble believing he'd behaved as badly as his dad thought.
He hadn't been using drugs, but he did drink way too much. And he'd been gambling. That one he couldn't deny. He couldn't deny the womanizing either. Still, he didn't feel his way of life warranted being exiled to the backwoods of ... where was he? Tennessee. That sounded right.
Okay, he did deserve banishment, but he didn't have to like it. He'd done his best to talk Dad out of his decision, and Jack's best had always been pretty good, but Mike wouldn't budge an inch. Jack didn't want to give up his position with the family company. He liked the perks a boss's son often enjoyed. If he couldn't convince his dad to back down and reinstate him, he might be forced to look for another playground. Maybe a few words from the fathers of his friends would influence Mike's decision. After Dad cooled off, he'd try reasoning with him. If that didn't work, he'd call in some favors.
So there he sat, behind the wheel of his hunter green Jaguar, racing up and down the winding roads of rural Tennessee toward a hick town called Andersonville. He hurtled toward an unknown fate inflicted on him for the purpose of shaping his character and straightening him out.
Jack had to admit the surroundings were beautiful. Spring had sprung. Wild flowers covered the fields all around him. Trees sprouted tender new leaves so pure a shade of green it would inspire poetry, if you were able to rhyme two words, which he couldn't. Though he recognized the loveliness of northeastern Tennessee, Jack found enjoyment of the scenery difficult when he faced months of imprisonment there in the hills.
Development of a piece of land along the shores of Norris Lake had become his new on-the-job training. He considered the area charming and busy, even at that time of year. Fishing there purported to be first-class. He'd also been told the water sports were a top draw in summer months. He didn't plan on staying around long enough to check it out, but he decided knowing a smidgen about the area before he faced old Dan would be a good idea. With that in mind, he drove on past Norris, toward the town located closest to the site where Barrister's planned on building their resort.
He rounded yet another curve, and there before him stood Andersonville. The tiny borough consisted of a few houses, a church, a cemetery, and a trading post/variety store. Jack groaned. What on earth would he do for entertainment there at the end of nowhere? He had his work cut out for him if he intended being home before summer.
Jack turned around and headed for the Super 8 Motel in Norris where Dan Weaver had arranged a meeting between them. On the drive back, he considered his situation. After serving as his own boss all those years, Jack found the prospect of reporting to another person mortifying. But he supposed if he must answer to someone, Dan would be the best one.
He checked in and picked up a message from the older man to meet him on site. Dan had given explicit directions, and Jack discovered he needed them. In spite of good instructions, he managed to lose his way twice.
On one of those occasions, he spotted a small house with several outbuildings and a person working some ground he assumed would be a garden. The individual looked like a plain woman dressed in baggy overalls and a long sleeved work shirt. She'd stuffed an old brown hat on her head and wore gumboots on her feet. She could've been a man, but two things suggested differently. She looked very small, and the breeze blowing against her chest gave a hint of curves. Definitely female, but definitely not his type! Jack tried to envision any one of the women he dated dressed that way. Not in their lifetime. They'd all slit their wrists before they'd let anyone see them like that.
After a couple of false tries, he found the lakeside site where Dad expected him to spend the next few months "becoming a man," unless he could convince Mike he'd matured enough to return to the city. The property proved very appealing. He'd seen the preliminary plans, and now he visualized how beautiful the resort would look when they completed the complex.
He swerved into the narrow gravel path that served as a drive, killed the engine, and hopped out. There, parked in an undersized clearing surrounded by forest, sat a small trailer with his family's company logo printed on the side. A Chevy truck sat beside it. That probably meant Dan had already arrived. Jack knocked on the door and entered without waiting for a response.
Dan was fifty-one years old, but he looked seventy, which might be the reason everyone called him "old" Dan Weaver. He was heavily built, not fat, but broad, muscled, and fairly tall, very stout. He had hair white as sugar and combed straight back from his forehead. His face was leathery-looking and as lined as a road map. His brandy-colored eyes were sharp and clear, and when you looked deep into them, you'd swear he was no more than thirty.
"Morning, Jackson," Dan greeted his new problem.
Dan's casual address irritated the younger man, making him feel as if he were an underling instead of the son and heir. "Dan," he acknowledged, trying and failing to put the older man in his place.
Dan looked him over, noting his belligerent stance and defensive attitude. He'd been warned by Daddy. The boy wasn't happy about being there. Somehow, teaching the kid a lesson had become his job. Taking care of their own mistakes should be a vocation reserved for the parents. Dan wasn't any happier about this situation than Jackie-boy.
"Your father tells me you're interested in learning how to put a project together from the bottom up." Dan kept such a straight face that he fooled Jack into believing Mike hadn't related the real reason he sent his son to Tennessee.
"Yes," Jack replied, and as an afterthought he added, "Dad says you're the best person for that." Jack felt certain the old man would eat up a compliment coming from the boss's son. He'd been hanging out with people who would fall for exactly that type of thing, but the leathered old man just stared at him with resignation.
"I've set up this trailer for your living quarters," Dan began, putting into motion the first stage of a plan for Jackson Barrister's reformation.
"I've already checked into the motel in town." Jack's reply, and the grimace on his face, underlined his distaste for the aluminum box.
"I need you out here," old Dan said, sober-faced as a judge. "We've had an incident or two, and I've decided someone on site twenty-four hours every day might be a deterrent."
Jack immediately bristled.
"Why me?" he practically shouted. "You're the expert!" He spat the word out, making the praise an insult when it should have been a tribute. "You staying out here would make a lot more sense. You can handle problems a novice like me couldn't possibly understand." Jack puffed up with pride. He widened his stance, straightened his back, and looked down his superior nose at Dan, certain the old man wouldn't recognize sarcasm when he heard it. Jack was wrong, but Dan proved way too clever to let the young pup see into his mind, so he played along.
"No, you're the best person for the job. You're an owner and a family member, so you have authority that I don't. Besides, a warm body is all we really need." Dan applied a little sarcasm of his own. "You can handle that, can't you?"
Jack sputtered a bit more, but he soon recognized Dan's determination. He dropped back into his Jaguar and headed for the motel without paying attention to the instructions the site supervisor tried to pass on. He would've done well if he'd stayed and listened, but he became stupid with arrogance and way too full of himself for any common sense. As a result, he drove away without knowing what kind of attacks Dan Weaver would've described.
Jack arrived back at his room and immediately called his parent's home. When he asked to speak with his father, the housekeeper told him Mike had left the premises. He phoned every place his father might go without any luck. Finally he concluded Mike had decided to avoid him. He must find someone to hunt his dad down and change his mind--or stay in Tennessee. He called a couple of buddies, hoping they could persuade their fathers to talk to Mike. They were conveniently busy elsewhere. Jack learned he'd quickly become out of sight and out of mind. Worse than that, he was out of style. He had to find a way to go home--fast.
Dan followed Jack to the motel and presented him with an ultimatum. "You have two choices, Jack. Either you can pack your bags and hightail it out to the trailer, or pack your bags and go home with a pink slip."
Jack became furious. "Who do you think you are? You work for me, not the other way around," he ranted, but Dan couldn't be shifted.
"Actually, I work for your father, and so do you. As of this moment, you also work under me, and if I say the word, you're fired."
Red-faced fury turned instantly to chalk-white shock. For speechless minutes, Jack stared at Dan before he gave in. "All right," he muttered with obvious distain. "But the second the crew arrives, I'm moving into the motel until I go home."
Dan set him straight right away. "Sorry, it doesn't work like that." Dan watched Jack deflate. "Even after we start construction, your presence out there will still be necessary for the duration."
Jack tried every argument he could imagine, and a couple of extras, but Dan was destined to succeed. Nightfall found Jack unpacking in the little silver trailer.
Anger kept Jack from sleeping the entire night. The weather didn't help. He lay awake fuming as he listened to rain hitting the top of the metal structure. He tried his cell phone several times, but couldn't make contact with anyplace further than Norris. What a mess. How could his parents do that to him? He still couldn't believe his mother had gone along with that harebrained idea! All through the night he wrestled with his ricocheting emotions.
That's probably why he fell asleep about the same time the locals were waking up. Since some were up sooner than others, Jack's early morning visitor came and went without a single witness to the small act of uncorking a tank supplying Jack's trailer with running water.
The first clue of any wrongdoing came after Dan called and woke Jack to tell him he would be out in an hour. Jack dragged himself out of bed and headed for the shower, thinking a little water would help open his eyes. A little water was just what he got before it dribbled and quit altogether.
Unfortunately, Jack had always been really bad at reading clues, at least that kind. He dried off, blaming everyone under the sun for his predicament, and while he waited, he paced the five feet of trailer space and ranted some more. His colorful language had turned the air blue by the time Dan pulled into the tiny parking area. Jack stormed to the door immediately.
"Why did you stick me out here in this God forsaken place with no water?" He thundered his query the minute Dan opened his truck door. "No food, no water, no phone. It's inhuman to ask a person to live like this."
Dan stared at him for a moment before he replied. "Most of the people who live in this area live exactly like this. You had plenty of water when I left last night." Dan paused, a thoughtful look spreading over his face. "I'd say you had a visitor."
Jack didn't understand, but he followed Dan around the trailer anyway. Water dripping from the empty tank and the stopper lying on the soaking wet ground supplied ample evidence that someone had been up to mischief, and that Jack had slept right through the whole thing.
"Why would anyone want to do that?" Jack asked, obviously puzzled by the meaningless act of vandalism. Dan gave him a look that said he thought Jack was dumber than a box of rocks.
"I told you we were having this kind of trouble." Dan emphasized the word told. "That's the reason you're here. We can't let this continue. Now we'll have to hire someone to come out and refill the water tank. Each time we have one of these incidents, it will slow down the operation and increase cost. I tried to tell you last night. We have to find out who's doing this and put them behind bars before we sustain real damage."
For the first time since his exile from Indianapolis, Jack stopped to ponder what Dan asked of him. He discovered he felt needed. Jack hadn't attended four years of college to prepare for detective work, but knowing he could do something that would make a difference felt surprisingly good. He would put his mind to work for the first time in a long time and prove to his father, and Dan, that he was more than just a piece of fluff.
Once he made up his mind to be helpful, he started planning. Being a pretty smart guy, Jack had earned good grades all through school and knew he could have done better if he'd put forth some effort. He had all the confidence in the world that he would have this intruder caught and out of their hair in no time. After that, Dad would welcome him home.
But he became frustrated in his venture from the start. Jack sat up all night two nights in a row and nothing happened. No one came around and no one tampered with anything. Having turned into a night owl during his last few years as a playboy became an asset when stalking night predators. Sleeping most of the day wasn't a hardship when the boring hours held nothing of interest. After two peaceful, starry, moonlit nights, he came to the conclusion that the perpetrator had decided to stop on his own, probably because of Jack's presence at the site. He joyfully resolved to go into town the following day and call his father. Determined to give Mike the good report as soon as possible, he believed this would be his ticket home.
Although the lobby of the motel where Dan had set up temporary headquarters sported a pay phone, Jack chose the mom and pop general store in Andersonville where, he'd been told, the owner also had a pay phone. He'd just as soon Dan didn't know he aimed to call his dad. He'd gained a gram of respect for the old geezer, and going behind his back didn't feel right. Jack nevertheless remained determined to leave this rural nightmare and return to the city.
As Jack stood in the back of the one-room store waiting for his connection, a small woman walked in. He estimated her height at five feet, three inches. He immediately noticed her sandy blonde hair, blue eyes, and fashion model thinness. That's where any resemblance to fashion ended. She wore a pair of baggy overalls, an old checked, oversized, work shirt, and gumboots. An ancient, wide-brimmed, felt hat was crammed on top of her head, and she carried a cloth bag. Slowly, but purposefully, she walked toward the counter. With each step, the room became more silent. He saw two women step away from the center aisle. The lady clerk seemed to shrink under the woman's solemn gaze.
The little hillbilly didn't say a word, just placed her bag carefully on the counter and waited for ... something. Jack became intrigued and so caught up in the mini drama that he almost missed the hello from his father's secretary.
He turned away and applied himself to negotiating a conversation with Mike. By the time he failed and hung up, the woman had gone. But as he started to leave, he became aware of snippets of conversations around him.
"...surprised she wasn't carrying her shotgun. She usually is."
"I've never seen her wear anything but those old clothes of her father's..."
"...can't understand why she didn't kill him sooner, the way he treated her."
"I don't know why she lets that old Haber Judd follow her around..."
Very odd, very interesting, Jack mused, realizing he'd stumbled onto a puzzle, and he couldn't stand an unsolved puzzle.
At that moment, he realized the absent woman was the one he saw the other day when he turned on the wrong road. Now that he thought about it, there'd been an old black man working in the garden spot, too.
What had that one lady said? That she'd killed a man? He would be keeping his distance from that one, for reasons other than he couldn't tell her female gender by looking. He left the store harboring a great deal of disappointment due to the lack of a conversation with Mike. He immediately put the strange woman out of his mind.
Ann Mason walked steadily back in the direction of her old flatbed truck and slid onto the seat behind the wheel. Coming to the store always proved difficult. She knew the rest of the customers would be whispering behind her back before she walked out the door. She didn't know what they said, but judging by the way they scurried out of her path, the gossip couldn't be anything good. Well, let them. She didn't need them. Ann didn't need anybody. She never had anyone except Haber Judd and Peanut anyhow.
She half expected Deke Hindricks, the sheriff of Anderson County, to materialize today for the purpose of harassing her, but he hadn't shown up. His absence seemed unusual because he knew her schedule almost as well as she did. You'd think after five years he'd give the whole business a rest, but he always hung around, obviously waiting for an opportunity to catch her out. He'd have a long wait. Ann was a careful woman. She touched the shotgun in its holder over the seat. Remembering she had a protective device on hand gave her comfort.
Haber Judd slid his tall, work-hardened body onto the other side of the worn bench seat. She noted his old overalls and flannel shirt were as clean as his kinky, salt-and-pepper hair. His lined, leathery, black face and coal black eyes were solemn. Her dog, Peanut, occupied the space between the two humans. She patted his head, started the engine, and drove away.
Her companion and only human friend, Haber Judd, taught her how to drive after Red died. That ability opened a whole new world for her. She could do a great many things she would never have been able to do without transportation. At least, she could do them easier and in greater volume than she had ever dreamed possible.
Now, Ann could deliver her eggs without pulling them to Andersonville in her wagon. Now, once a year, she could load her whittled figures in the Ford and drive into Knoxville to a gift shop that would buy all she could turn out. Now, she could sell, directly from the bed of her truck, all the vegetables she could harvest. Now, she could deliver the wood she and Haber Judd supplied for vacationers who willingly paid someone else to do the cutting. Life seemed good.
Or at least it would if people would leave her alone to do her work. Since strangers started building resorts and vacation homes in the lake area, she had someone coming around several times a year trying to buy her property.
A long time ago, before she was born, her great-grandfather, Woodrow Carter, owned four hundred acres of this prime Tennessee land. But the Tennessee Valley Authority built Norris Dam in 1936 and now most of that land lay under water.
Woody had been elderly and uneducated. They easily bamboozled him out of the lakefront part of the property, leaving him with only the ten acres the house sat on for her grandfather Jedidiah's inheritance. Jed Carter had, in his turn, passed the modest property to his only child, Ann's mother, Mary Sue Carter Randall. When she died, the land and house passed to Ann's father, Jessie Randall.
The land belonged to her now, but the achievement took a long time. When her disgraceful father forced her into marriage with Redford Mason, he made Red his heir. As a result, when Jessie died, Red inherited Ann's legacy. When Red died, as his wife, the land became hers. At last the property rested with its rightful owner.
Now people were trying to take that land, too. Ann had no intention of selling, ever. She'd lived there all her life. She wouldn't know how to live anywhere else, but she didn't know how to make them leave her alone.
Before Norris Lake became so popular, she barely eked out a living. Now that money proved more readily available, beating off people who wanted her land became the problem. Even though the property didn't set on the shoreline of the lake, the docks were nearby, making the location desirable.
The firm that bought the land, which butted up against her back boundary, had become the most persistent of all the pursuers. They had obtained the twenty acres that stretched from her property down by the lake. She heard they wanted hers because it would give them frontage on two roads. They weren't too crazy about having her eyesore, as they'd put it, in their backyard, either.
One of their men had even tried to court her. He sent flowers and asked her out to dinner and a movie. He seemed surprised, even shocked, when she turned him down. She smiled at the memory of his flabbergasted expression. He thought she would jump at the chance to go out with a fine-looking man like him. He took one look at her and saw a poor, deprived, love starved widow who would be so flattered by his invitation that she would be putty in his hands. If he had run a check on her background, he would've known better. No man could draw her interest, fine looking or otherwise. The two males she had in her life now were the only ones she wanted.
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