Unwitting Alliances - Hunter Blake Series by Peggy Lea Baker
Chapter Three
It had been three weeks since the CAMEOs. Hunter was rudely awakened from a comfortable and sound sleep by his phone ringing on the night stand. By the time he managed to grab it, he’d missed the call and there was no caller identification. “Another one,” he mumbled. Since getting home to his ranch he’d gotten several anonymous calls but no one left messages. It was starting to wear on his nerves.
He got up, stretched, then parted the curtains and peeked outside. “Beautiful,” he said at the sight of a new blanket of snow, soft and pristine. Nothing had disturbed it yet, not even animal tracks.
Pulling on a robe and slippers, he shoved his phone in a pocket and ambled downstairs to start a pot of coffee then poured a glass of orange juice and sat down.
Sipping his juice, he flinched when his phone rang again. Angry, he yanked it from his pocket. Another blocked call. He finished his juice and took the glass to the sink. Moments later, his phone beeped.
“At least someone left a message this time.” He dialed in to his voice mail and listened. It was Tiffany.
“Hunter, I’m very annoyed with you. You ran out on me and never explained why. I want you to know that I forgive you and I’ve been thinking about you. I can’t stay angry at you for long and I miss you. Have you been thinking about me? Please call me back. Here’s my new number.”
Hunter found an old envelope and wrote it down, then immediately wadded it up and tossed it in the trash. That uneasy feeling was back. If she had been that annoyed and missed him so much why wait three weeks to say so. The Tiffany he used to know wouldn’t have waited so long.
Following his quick departure from southern California, after the awards, Hunter had comfortably settled in at his ranch, nestled in the mountains northeast of Coeur d’Alene, Idaho. It was peaceful and quiet. No city noise. No swarm of paparazzi snapping countless photos everywhere he went, and outside of the annoying blocked calls, there were no incessant phone calls from producers and directors. He liked that just fine.
He was content to be home. He didn’t even have cable television. Instead, his entertainment included working in a well-stocked workshop in a remodeled barn, and reading an occasional good book. Flying, however, was his real joy and passion. In addition to his private jet, which he kept at the local airport, he also owned a sleek white helicopter with room for six passengers. It sat on a landing pad near the ranch house during warmer weather, but in winter, and whenever he was going to be gone for extended periods of time, he housed it in hangar built soon after he purchased the ranch property.
In spite of his successful career in film, Hunter had been plagued with a string of unsuccessful hit and miss relationships and three failed marriages, the last one involving heated and angry negotiations. He was convinced marriage was some kind of deranged institution designed to provide former spouses with a lifetime of financial security, all at his expense. “Never again!” he proclaimed to friends, once the divorce was final. “I’m through with charitable giving!”
Hunter headed to the living room and added kindling and new logs to the few glowing coals left over from the previous evening’s fire. Soon he had another cheery blaze snapping and crackling.
Settling into his well-used recliner, Hunter glanced around then reached for a newly acquired computer tablet to check emails and peruse the local online paper. After skimming a few headlines, he happened onto the classified page and almost immediately noticed a particular ad. Impulsively, he made a phone call, had a quick conversation, then got dressed and headed to Coeur d’Alene in his four-wheel drive pickup truck.
Outside of making a couple of trips to town, in between snow flurries to stock up on a few things, he’d stayed close to home since coming back. And other than the annoying anonymous phone calls the past few weeks, he’d managed to avoid anything else unusual.
Pulling up in front of a home in an older section of Coeur d’Alene near downtown, he shut off the engine and examined the tiny residence. The front yard was fenced with chain link which stood roughly three feet high. The snow was discolored by mud and riddled with animal tracks. One leafless tree stood in the front yard. A length of rope was tied to it, with a dog at the other end digging madly in the muddy mess.
Free, to a Good Home, an ad had read. The dog turned suddenly to see who had just stopped at his yard and bounded to the fence, eagerly propping his muddy front paws on the top crosspiece. He let out a friendly bark and wagged his tail so hard that Hunter thought the poor thing was going to snap in two.
“Maybe Gerry was right,” Hunter mumbled under his breath at the sight of the dog’s muddy paws.
The door to the rundown home opened and a middle-aged woman with matted gray hair and dark circles under her eyes stepped out onto the porch. She tugged at an ill-fitting coat, trying to pull it around her for warmth. “You here about the dawg?” she called out from the doorway.
“I sure hope this isn’t going to be a mistake,” he said then stepped out of his truck. Quickly sizing up the woman and the dog he answered, “Ah… yes. I called this morning.”
Well, he’s yers if you want ‘im. I’ll go git his leash. Be right back.” She didn’t give him a chance to say whether or not he actually wanted the dog before she returned carrying a plastic grocery bag bulging with an odd assortment of items.
“Ya did want the dawg, right?” she finally asked, standing at the gate holding out the bag. A half-smoked cigarette dangled from her lips as she waited for Hunter to take the bag.
Hunter looked at the muddy mongrel still eagerly wagging his tail. “Sure. Why not?” He accepted the bag and the woman untied the dog. She struggled to hold onto his bright blue leather collar as Hunter opened the gate and reached for the dog’s collar.
“You’ll have ta grab him here and put the leash on him,” she indicated with her free hand, flicking ashes at the same time. “He’s a bit muddy.”
“I can see that,” Hunter answered and reached for the dog’s collar. “By the way,” he asked, wrestling with the excited pooch, “why are you giving him away?”
“Oh, he was my husband’s, but Earl passed a couple of months ago and I don’t got no use fer ‘im. He’s too much ta handle.” She took a long drag on her cigarette then blew the smoke out the side of her mouth as she watched Hunter struggle to hook up the leash. The excited dog could barely hold still.
“Friendly,” he mumbled as he continued to struggle with the mutt.
“He don’t bite er nothin’.”
“Does he have a name?” He looked at the woman. She was nearly toothless.
“We call ‘im Buster,” she responded with an unavoidable lisp.
“Buster,” Hunter looked at him. “Nice name.” His sarcasm seemed lost on the woman as she replied.
“Yep. We thought so.”
Hunter eyed his new dog. “You are a real mess, you know that?” He grinned and Buster wagged his tail. “I’ll need to clean your feet.” Hanging onto the leash, Hunter grabbed a towel from the cab then lowered the tailgate. “Hop up here,” he said.
For the next several minutes Hunter did his best to clean the feet of a very excited dog while the woman stood watching and flicking ashes. Hunter finally put Buster in the cab and shut the door.
“Thanks, again,” he said to the woman, offering some cash in spite of the ad. She started to refuse then noticed the hundred-dollar bill.
“Well, okay… if you insist,” she said flicking more ashes as she reached for the bill. There was a slight curl to her lip as she walked back to the house and disappeared inside. From a window, she watched Hunter drive away then removed a dental appliance from her mouth, and pulled off a wig.
“That was easy enough,” a man’s voice said. “Let’s hope that damned dog remembers his lessons.”
“That’s no way to talk about your former canine friend,” the woman said in a more cultured voice. “Besides, they only had three weeks to prep him.”
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“I hate that dog,” he replied.
“Yes, well, he’s not all that fond of you either.” She snuffed out the cigarette. “Not like I am.”
He put his arms around her. “Does Gerry have even the slightest idea about us?”
“Not a clue, Daniel dear,” she said.
Hunter drove to a local grocery store on the way out of town to pick up a few things. He left one window open a couple of inches so Buster could sniff the air. “You’ll have to wait here, but I’ll make it quick,” he said, then hurried inside.
Quickly gathering an assortment of things for Buster, he joined a few others waiting in line to check out. Everyone smiled, stared, and whispered excitedly. Hunter took it all in stride and chatted with a few of them until it was his turn to load items onto the conveyor.
He stepped up to the small raised counter to pay just as a customer came in the automatic door. Instantly everyone was fully aware of a dog barking excitedly out in the parking lot. At first Hunter didn’t pay much attention, but the barking continued and became more intense.
“Sounds like somebody’s dog isn’t too happy out there,” the clerk said as she rang up his items.
Now a little uneasy, Hunter glanced toward the front windows trying to see his truck. Another customer entered. The barking had escalated to an obviously threatening pitch.
He quickly paid the clerk and mumbled a thank you, as he grabbed the loaded grocery cart and hurried outside. Approaching his truck, he noticed a couple of kids with skateboards teasing Buster.
“Hey!” Hunter yelled. “What are you doing!”
Startled, the kids started running, jumped on their skateboards, and wheeled away.
“You okay, pal?” Hunter asked as he approached. He put the bags of groceries on the floor in the cab then got in and started the engine. “Kids. Haven’t they got anything better to do?”
The drive back to the ranch was beautiful with so much snow everywhere. Buster tapped his tail on the seat and happily watched out the front window. Giving him an ear rub, Hunter grinned.
“You’re gonna like your new home,” he said.
An hour later, Buster was clambering over Hunter in an effort to jump from the cab the minute the door opened. As his new dog happily ran off to explore, Hunter collected his grocery bags and called out, “Don’t run off!” He laughed as he watched Buster trample the new fallen snow in every possible direction then went inside. Getting the fire stoked up first, he put away groceries then stood at a window gazing out at the landscape. Zipping up his jacket he decided to go out to the barn.
He pulled open the large doors and stepped inside. With a smile, he breathed deeply, drinking in the assortment of workshop smells as well as aged straw in the overhead loft. He wandered through his work area, fingering a stack of lumber then ended up at the doorway of a small room previously used for saddles and bridles. Buster had wandered in and was watching and sniffing the air then looked up at Hunter.
“What do you think, Buster? You like your new home? I thought we could put one of those nice dog beds in that corner,” he pointed. “There’s plenty of sunlight from the two windows up there, and I can put a small heater in here so it’s nice and cozy for you.”
Hunter stepped into the room but Buster stayed at the door, still sniffing with his ears laid back. Looking up at Hunter again, his eyes were softened. Instead of a happy bark, he let out a whimper.
“What’s the matter? Don’t you like it? It’s your very own room.”
Buster continued to watch Hunter while maintaining a position near the doorway, but just as Hunter took a step toward him, Buster turned and bolted out of the barn and up a snowy embankment.
Confused, Hunter followed. “What’s wrong, Buster?” he asked as he knelt down. “Come here.” He coaxed him. “Why do I get the feeling you aren’t going to like sleeping in there? Huh? You a house dog and not a ranch dog? Or did something spook ya? Huh?”
Buster slowly walked up to him. Hunter rubbed the dog’s ears and gently ran a hand down his back, noticing for the first time some scabs under his fur. Buster flinched slightly.
“Poor guy. Someone’s been mistreating you, haven’t they?” Buster looked up at him. “That’s not good.”
Standing up, he frowned and thought of Buster’s previous owner. “I sure hope she isn’t responsible for this,” he said. “Well, Buster, guess what? You’re home now. And if you don’t want to sleep in the barn, that’s okay. You can stay in the house, but we’ll have to work on some rules. That okay with you?”
Buster wagged his tail slightly. Hunter grinned. “I think I’d better take you to a vet and have you checked out.” Walking back to the house, Hunter breathed in the cool winter air and smiled. “Welcome to your new home, Buster,” he said. “It’s just you and me, pal, a couple of carefree bachelors.”
It had been three weeks since the CAMEOs. Hunter was rudely awakened from a comfortable and sound sleep by his phone ringing on the night stand. By the time he managed to grab it, he’d missed the call and there was no caller identification. “Another one,” he mumbled. Since getting home to his ranch he’d gotten several anonymous calls but no one left messages. It was starting to wear on his nerves.
He got up, stretched, then parted the curtains and peeked outside. “Beautiful,” he said at the sight of a new blanket of snow, soft and pristine. Nothing had disturbed it yet, not even animal tracks.
Pulling on a robe and slippers, he shoved his phone in a pocket and ambled downstairs to start a pot of coffee then poured a glass of orange juice and sat down.
Sipping his juice, he flinched when his phone rang again. Angry, he yanked it from his pocket. Another blocked call. He finished his juice and took the glass to the sink. Moments later, his phone beeped.
“At least someone left a message this time.” He dialed in to his voice mail and listened. It was Tiffany.
“Hunter, I’m very annoyed with you. You ran out on me and never explained why. I want you to know that I forgive you and I’ve been thinking about you. I can’t stay angry at you for long and I miss you. Have you been thinking about me? Please call me back. Here’s my new number.”
Hunter found an old envelope and wrote it down, then immediately wadded it up and tossed it in the trash. That uneasy feeling was back. If she had been that annoyed and missed him so much why wait three weeks to say so. The Tiffany he used to know wouldn’t have waited so long.
Following his quick departure from southern California, after the awards, Hunter had comfortably settled in at his ranch, nestled in the mountains northeast of Coeur d’Alene, Idaho. It was peaceful and quiet. No city noise. No swarm of paparazzi snapping countless photos everywhere he went, and outside of the annoying blocked calls, there were no incessant phone calls from producers and directors. He liked that just fine.
He was content to be home. He didn’t even have cable television. Instead, his entertainment included working in a well-stocked workshop in a remodeled barn, and reading an occasional good book. Flying, however, was his real joy and passion. In addition to his private jet, which he kept at the local airport, he also owned a sleek white helicopter with room for six passengers. It sat on a landing pad near the ranch house during warmer weather, but in winter, and whenever he was going to be gone for extended periods of time, he housed it in hangar built soon after he purchased the ranch property.
In spite of his successful career in film, Hunter had been plagued with a string of unsuccessful hit and miss relationships and three failed marriages, the last one involving heated and angry negotiations. He was convinced marriage was some kind of deranged institution designed to provide former spouses with a lifetime of financial security, all at his expense. “Never again!” he proclaimed to friends, once the divorce was final. “I’m through with charitable giving!”
Hunter headed to the living room and added kindling and new logs to the few glowing coals left over from the previous evening’s fire. Soon he had another cheery blaze snapping and crackling.
Settling into his well-used recliner, Hunter glanced around then reached for a newly acquired computer tablet to check emails and peruse the local online paper. After skimming a few headlines, he happened onto the classified page and almost immediately noticed a particular ad. Impulsively, he made a phone call, had a quick conversation, then got dressed and headed to Coeur d’Alene in his four-wheel drive pickup truck.
Outside of making a couple of trips to town, in between snow flurries to stock up on a few things, he’d stayed close to home since coming back. And other than the annoying anonymous phone calls the past few weeks, he’d managed to avoid anything else unusual.
Pulling up in front of a home in an older section of Coeur d’Alene near downtown, he shut off the engine and examined the tiny residence. The front yard was fenced with chain link which stood roughly three feet high. The snow was discolored by mud and riddled with animal tracks. One leafless tree stood in the front yard. A length of rope was tied to it, with a dog at the other end digging madly in the muddy mess.
Free, to a Good Home, an ad had read. The dog turned suddenly to see who had just stopped at his yard and bounded to the fence, eagerly propping his muddy front paws on the top crosspiece. He let out a friendly bark and wagged his tail so hard that Hunter thought the poor thing was going to snap in two.
“Maybe Gerry was right,” Hunter mumbled under his breath at the sight of the dog’s muddy paws.
The door to the rundown home opened and a middle-aged woman with matted gray hair and dark circles under her eyes stepped out onto the porch. She tugged at an ill-fitting coat, trying to pull it around her for warmth. “You here about the dawg?” she called out from the doorway.
“I sure hope this isn’t going to be a mistake,” he said then stepped out of his truck. Quickly sizing up the woman and the dog he answered, “Ah… yes. I called this morning.”
Well, he’s yers if you want ‘im. I’ll go git his leash. Be right back.” She didn’t give him a chance to say whether or not he actually wanted the dog before she returned carrying a plastic grocery bag bulging with an odd assortment of items.
“Ya did want the dawg, right?” she finally asked, standing at the gate holding out the bag. A half-smoked cigarette dangled from her lips as she waited for Hunter to take the bag.
Hunter looked at the muddy mongrel still eagerly wagging his tail. “Sure. Why not?” He accepted the bag and the woman untied the dog. She struggled to hold onto his bright blue leather collar as Hunter opened the gate and reached for the dog’s collar.
“You’ll have ta grab him here and put the leash on him,” she indicated with her free hand, flicking ashes at the same time. “He’s a bit muddy.”
“I can see that,” Hunter answered and reached for the dog’s collar. “By the way,” he asked, wrestling with the excited pooch, “why are you giving him away?”
“Oh, he was my husband’s, but Earl passed a couple of months ago and I don’t got no use fer ‘im. He’s too much ta handle.” She took a long drag on her cigarette then blew the smoke out the side of her mouth as she watched Hunter struggle to hook up the leash. The excited dog could barely hold still.
“Friendly,” he mumbled as he continued to struggle with the mutt.
“He don’t bite er nothin’.”
“Does he have a name?” He looked at the woman. She was nearly toothless.
“We call ‘im Buster,” she responded with an unavoidable lisp.
“Buster,” Hunter looked at him. “Nice name.” His sarcasm seemed lost on the woman as she replied.
“Yep. We thought so.”
Hunter eyed his new dog. “You are a real mess, you know that?” He grinned and Buster wagged his tail. “I’ll need to clean your feet.” Hanging onto the leash, Hunter grabbed a towel from the cab then lowered the tailgate. “Hop up here,” he said.
For the next several minutes Hunter did his best to clean the feet of a very excited dog while the woman stood watching and flicking ashes. Hunter finally put Buster in the cab and shut the door.
“Thanks, again,” he said to the woman, offering some cash in spite of the ad. She started to refuse then noticed the hundred-dollar bill.
“Well, okay… if you insist,” she said flicking more ashes as she reached for the bill. There was a slight curl to her lip as she walked back to the house and disappeared inside. From a window, she watched Hunter drive away then removed a dental appliance from her mouth, and pulled off a wig.
“That was easy enough,” a man’s voice said. “Let’s hope that damned dog remembers his lessons.”
“That’s no way to talk about your former canine friend,” the woman said in a more cultured voice. “Besides, they only had three weeks to prep him.”
“I hate that dog,” he replied.
“Yes, well, he’s not all that fond of you either.” She snuffed out the cigarette. “Not like I am.”
He put his arms around her. “Does Gerry have even the slightest idea about us?”
“Not a clue, Daniel dear,” she said.
Hunter drove to a local grocery store on the way out of town to pick up a few things. He left one window open a couple of inches so Buster could sniff the air. “You’ll have to wait here, but I’ll make it quick,” he said, then hurried inside.
Quickly gathering an assortment of things for Buster, he joined a few others waiting in line to check out. Everyone smiled, stared, and whispered excitedly. Hunter took it all in stride and chatted with a few of them until it was his turn to load items onto the conveyor.
He stepped up to the small raised counter to pay just as a customer came in the automatic door. Instantly everyone was fully aware of a dog barking excitedly out in the parking lot. At first Hunter didn’t pay much attention, but the barking continued and became more intense.
“Sounds like somebody’s dog isn’t too happy out there,” the clerk said as she rang up his items.
Now a little uneasy, Hunter glanced toward the front windows trying to see his truck. Another customer entered. The barking had escalated to an obviously threatening pitch.
He quickly paid the clerk and mumbled a thank you, as he grabbed the loaded grocery cart and hurried outside. Approaching his truck, he noticed a couple of kids with skateboards teasing Buster.
“Hey!” Hunter yelled. “What are you doing!”
Startled, the kids started running, jumped on their skateboards, and wheeled away.
“You okay, pal?” Hunter asked as he approached. He put the bags of groceries on the floor in the cab then got in and started the engine. “Kids. Haven’t they got anything better to do?”
The drive back to the ranch was beautiful with so much snow everywhere. Buster tapped his tail on the seat and happily watched out the front window. Giving him an ear rub, Hunter grinned.
“You’re gonna like your new home,” he said.
An hour later, Buster was clambering over Hunter in an effort to jump from the cab the minute the door opened. As his new dog happily ran off to explore, Hunter collected his grocery bags and called out, “Don’t run off!” He laughed as he watched Buster trample the new fallen snow in every possible direction then went inside. Getting the fire stoked up first, he put away groceries then stood at a window gazing out at the landscape. Zipping up his jacket he decided to go out to the barn.
He pulled open the large doors and stepped inside. With a smile, he breathed deeply, drinking in the assortment of workshop smells as well as aged straw in the overhead loft. He wandered through his work area, fingering a stack of lumber then ended up at the doorway of a small room previously used for saddles and bridles. Buster had wandered in and was watching and sniffing the air then looked up at Hunter.
“What do you think, Buster? You like your new home? I thought we could put one of those nice dog beds in that corner,” he pointed. “There’s plenty of sunlight from the two windows up there, and I can put a small heater in here so it’s nice and cozy for you.”
Hunter stepped into the room but Buster stayed at the door, still sniffing with his ears laid back. Looking up at Hunter again, his eyes were softened. Instead of a happy bark, he let out a whimper.
“What’s the matter? Don’t you like it? It’s your very own room.”
Buster continued to watch Hunter while maintaining a position near the doorway, but just as Hunter took a step toward him, Buster turned and bolted out of the barn and up a snowy embankment.
Confused, Hunter followed. “What’s wrong, Buster?” he asked as he knelt down. “Come here.” He coaxed him. “Why do I get the feeling you aren’t going to like sleeping in there? Huh? You a house dog and not a ranch dog? Or did something spook ya? Huh?”
Buster slowly walked up to him. Hunter rubbed the dog’s ears and gently ran a hand down his back, noticing for the first time some scabs under his fur. Buster flinched slightly.
“Poor guy. Someone’s been mistreating you, haven’t they?” Buster looked up at him. “That’s not good.”
Standing up, he frowned and thought of Buster’s previous owner. “I sure hope she isn’t responsible for this,” he said. “Well, Buster, guess what? You’re home now. And if you don’t want to sleep in the barn, that’s okay. You can stay in the house, but we’ll have to work on some rules. That okay with you?”
Buster wagged his tail slightly. Hunter grinned. “I think I’d better take you to a vet and have you checked out.” Walking back to the house, Hunter breathed in the cool winter air and smiled. “Welcome to your new home, Buster,” he said. “It’s just you and me, pal, a couple of carefree bachelors.”