Green Lake Read Free Page B

surprised than Eris Renard to find the small, blonde Madeleine Heron on his step at lunchtime that day. He put down his sandwich and went to push open the screen door. As the sunlight caught the side of her face he saw that she was older than he had at first believed. And prettier.
    Her look once again fastened on the scars in his cheeks. Irritated, Eris removed his sunglasses and said, “May I help you?”
    Her gaze shifted and she met his eyes. Eris lifted both black brows as she went on to stare at the gun on his hip. “Miss?”
    “I've come to apologize for my earlier behavior with you,” she said. “I realize how it must have seemed, but it was nothing personal, believe me. We got off on a bad foot and I'd like to start over, since I'm going to be your neighbor for a while.”
    Eris nodded. “No apology is necessary. Have a nice stay, Miss Heron.”
    He had turned away when he heard her say, “I'm a bit old to be called 'miss.' Please call me Madeleine.”
    “All right, Madeleine. If you'll excuse me, I just stopped in to grab a sandwich.”
    She backed immediately away. “Of course. Forgive the intrusion.”
    Eris closed the screen door and went back to the kitchen and his sandwich. He picked it up and took it out to the truck with him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her walking back up to the log cabin, her spine stiff.
    His mouth twitched as he thought of the way she had unabashedly stripped in front of the window the night before. Then he thought of her first glimpse of him, and the way her lip had curled.
    He shoved the sandwich into his mouth and pushed his key into the ignition. Pretty girls had looked that way at him for as long as he could remember. It was nothing new.
    He guided the truck out of his driveway and onto the road, turning when he reached the road that led to the dam. When he reached the bridge he slowed down to look around. He thought he had spied some oil on the road before, possibly spilled from a boat or some leaking old engine pulling a boat. He saw nothing now, so he guessed it had been his imagination. Oil patches were particularly dangerous on bridges, and would be nothing less than lethal on this one.
    A horn tooted behind him and he looked in his rearview mirror to see Madeleine Heron behind the wheel of the old blue Chevy pickup that sat in the cabin's garage. The Ortiz couple was in the cab with her. Eris stuck an arm out the window and waved her around him. She ground the gears and jerked out past his truck. No power steering. Shift on the column. She was going to have her hands full.
    Eris sat and watched the truck until it was out of sigh t then he went over the dam and down the road to where men fished beneath the dam. Out of the dozen or so fishing there several would not have permits, or the permits they did have would be expired. Campers without permits, boaters without the proper equipment and/or permits, pyromaniacs shooting off fireworks, drunks on skis and off—all of these things he had to look forward to over the next few busy months. And much more.
    It was the middle of his second year as a conservation officer. He had attended college and covered the areas of wildlife biology and fisheries scienc e. He had completed certification as a law enforcement officer and learned how to speak in front of large groups of people. He knew how to operate every piece of required equipment and was expert at catching and trapping wild animals. His colleagues were envious of his marksmanship abilities, but few ever bothered to learn his name. He was always simply “the Indian.”
    People at the lake were the same. It was never, “here comes the game warden” (which people persisted in calling conservation officers despite the title change), but always “here comes that Indian,” or “here comes trouble.”
    Eris was used to instant animosity. Standing six feet four and having a face like his, people tended toward instant dislike. The uniform enhanced the effect rather