Chapter 1
“You’ve arrived.”
I pulled into the gravel driveway of a tidy white house with blue trim. To my great relief, it looked just like it had in the listing. I’d had some short term rental nightmares over the years. Like the place that left my clothes and hair permeated with the stench of death and cabbage.
Or that time in Chicago I thought I had reserved a whole apartment, but wound up with a roommate whose favorite topic of conversation was my family medical history. This was no “oh my god, they were roommates” romcom setup. No, I think I had unwittingly stumbled into a black market organ-harvesting scheme. Luckily, I’m a light sleeper and all my organs made it through the night just where they belonged.
Speaking of organs, now that I’d arrived, I couldn’t ignore my bladder anymore. When I’m making good time on a road trip, I try to minimize my stops as much as possible. This particular road trip had been complicated. On Saturday I moved out of my apartment in Ithaca, New York. By Sunday I was unloading my stuff into a storage unit in New Jersey, close to where my parents live. Monday I organized all the gear and equipment for my eight-month research trip. Tuesday I finally left on my 700 plus mile drive to Great Smoky Mountains National Park.
So yeah, once I’d crossed into Tennessee, I really didn’t want to take any more bathroom breaks. And now I could piss like an elephant. That’s right; I skipped over the more cliche racehorse and went straight for the largest land animal on Earth, with the largest bladder.
I pulled to the end of the top driveway, put the car in park, grabbed my phone and jumped out. I did a little pee pee dance on the porch while I looked through my texts to find the keycode.
Bursting through the door, I chose to run right rather than left. Luckily, it was the correct direction for the bathroom.
Now, where was I?
Right, Tennessee. Specifically Green Valley, TN, in my little cottage home for the next eight months. I’d found it on AirBnB, but because my stay would be so long, I’d contacted the host outside the app to negotiate a better price. Looking around, I was pleased with the place. It was clean and spare, but the furniture looked comfortable. One bedroom, one bath, full kitchen with a lovely little elevated deck out the back, an office nook, a laundry closet, and downstairs there was a secure storage area. It had everything I needed. And not a whiff of cabbage or death.
I unloaded my luggage first, hanging my clothes in the bedroom closet. Then I drove down the lower driveway. The house sat on a piece of land that sloped down from the road, so the basement was a walk-out at the back. Four big bins of equipment safely stowed, I decided to explore a little. I still had road trip stiffness to work out of my muscles.
I took the primitive steps leading further down the back slope. At the bottom was a small stream. Across the stream was a steep forested slope up.
I was going to catch some cool insects here. That’s what I do. I study insects. Also birds. But insects are my first love.
I headed back up to the cottage. I needed to test out the wifi connection before I could make a final verdict on the place. I found the binder with house rules, passwords, and other helpful tips. There was a welcome note tucked into the front cover addressed “Dear Giordanna.”
That’s me: Giordanna Mayfield, Ph.D. But I go by Jo most of the time.
The personalized note was a nice touch. Freddie, my host, had signed it in pen. He had nice handwriting. I’d been corresponding with him online for close to a year. His signature was the first proof that he was a real person. He was always professional, helpful, and polite but also impersonal. He could have been some kind of hospitality AI bot for all I knew. His AirBnB avatar was pixelated, making it hard to see details. All I had known about him was that he was a black man with a bright smile. And impeccable grammar.
Apart from the good reviews he had, Freddie being African American was one of the reasons I’d chosen his place. Because you’ve got to support your own. As a mixed race person with a small business owner father, I wanted black small business owners to succeed everywhere.
I thumbed through the binder to find a rundown of local eateries.
There was Daisy’s Nut House, but that seemed like more of a breakfast place. I took note of the famous doughnuts. Definitely on my list of places to check out.
The Front Porch sounded upscale, and sit-down. It wasn’t what I was looking for. Perhaps another time.
Genie’s was a bar, but they served food. I could go munch on some fries while getting a feel for the locals on a Wednesday night.
The Dragon was also a bar. But Freddie’s blurb read simply: UNSAFE! Full of criminals.
Well okay then. Genie’s it was.
“How’re you doing, hon?” the bartender asked with a friendly smile. “Another beer?”
I smiled back at her over my sampler plate of appetizers. It had satisfied my craving for salty, slightly greasy munchies quite well. But I wouldn’t finish it. I pushed the dish forward to indicate I was done.
“Yeah, I’ll have one more. Thanks.” Two beers was my limit when alone in a new place, not to mention, when I had to drive on mountain roads in the dark.
She cleared the plate, silverware, and bottle away. While she was fetching my beer, two more patrons walked into Genie’s.
The bartender popped the top off my microbrew bottle and set it in front of me. With a wink she said loudly, “Uh oh, it’s the law.”
I raised my eyebrows and looked over at the newcomers from my spot at one corner of the bar. They’d chosen stools on the perpendicular side, a few seats down from me.
“Hey Patty,” one of them said with a grin. He had short, light brown hair and was clean-shaven. He was a cutie. But also tall and muscular. So, a hot cutie.
“Deputy Evans.” Patty leaned one hand on the bar next to me, and rested the other hand on her jaunty hip. She looked at the second man, “Deputy Boone.”
If Evans was a hot cutie, Boone was a hot hottie. Dark skin, short black hair and well-groomed beard. He wore a green polo shirt, the sleeves snug across his biceps. His full lips quirked up, barely. “We’re not on duty, ma’am.”
“Mmm-hmmm,” Patty hummed, her mouth twisting to the side. “Does that mean you’ll actually have some fun tonight?”
“That’s the plan,” Evans answered.
“You always have fun, Evans. But for Boone, I’ll believe it when I see it,” she gave Boone a teasing squint.
He sat under her scrutiny with no reaction, like a slab of sexy granite. Then his gaze cut to mine.
I had been brazenly listening, my eyes ping-ponging between the three of them. But with his heavy interest on me, I took a swig of my beer and looked out toward the rest of the bar. The nosy outsider didn’t need to catch the notice of the cops on her very first night in Tennessee.
In my peripheral vision, Patty served the two hotties their beer. I didn’t want to gawk anymore, so I watched as a small stage was set up in the far corner. Maybe there would be live music.
“That’s a good school.”
I swung my head back to look at Patty. She indicated my Cornell sweatshirt. “Did you go there?”
“Yes, but I also work there,” I replied. “I’m a postdoc.”
Patty perked up, “What’s your field of study?”
I glanced at Boone and Evans, because now they were listening in on my conversation, Evans with his perpetual friendly smile and Boone with his impassive stare. It was the latter who made me weirdly nervous.
“Umm… Biogeography with a focus on birds and insects. I work at the Cornell Lab of Ornithology.”
At this, Evans stood from his stool on the far side of Boone and moved around him, taking a stool much closer to me. His eyes damn near twinkled. “Seeing as you’re an expert, maybe you could explain the birds and the bees to Boone here.”
I huffed a laugh at Boone’s barely perceptible glower. “What is this? Good cop, stoic cop?”
Evans and Patty both guffawed, and I even caught a flash of white teeth on Boone’s face.
My cheeks overspread with warmth.
“What’s your name, honey?” Patty asked, holding out her hand.
“I’m Jo.” I shook her hand. “Nice to meet you, Patty.”
She nodded. “You here to do research in the park?”
I blinked at her. That was a good guess. “Yes, I’m bird-banding for the spring migration, working with the National Park Service.”
Patty nodded again. “Biogeography. Makes sense.” She had to leave, because more customers were coming in.
I turned my attention to Evans, who was still giving me a full on friendliness assault. He reached over and poked Boone’s shoulder, motioning for him to move closer to where we sat.
With a flat look, Boone shifted two stools toward us.
“Don’t mind him. He’s a watcher.” Evans winked at me. “Like a gargoyle.”
I laughed but didn’t want to keep teasing the poor man. A change in subject was warranted. I lifted my chin towards the stage, where a couple of guys were setting up. “It looks like there will be music soon?”
“That’s right, Jo. Some good Tennessee foot-stompin’ music. I hope you’ll dance with me.”
I felt… weird. Because Boone was watching, a sentinel of soberness.
I mustered a response to Evans. “Umm, I’m not sure I’ll know how to dance to foot-stompin’ music. It’s not really… a thing where I’m from.”
Evans shrugged away my excuse. “It’s easy. I’ll teach you if you want. Now tell us all about yourself.” He propped his elbow on the bar and rested his chin on his hand, as if waiting for my life story.
My expression was somewhere between amused, skeptical, and bewildered. Evans seemed to be flirting with me, but then, he also seemed to be including Boone in said flirting. “Is he your wingman or are you his?”
Evans barked out a laugh, Boone flashed his teeth quickly before looking down at his beer, and I felt unaccountably hot again.
“Well, now,” said Evans, scratching his chin, “which do you prefer?”
I looked between them, pausing for effect, as if I was actually weighing my options. I pointed at Evans, then wagged my finger back and forth. “Eeny, meeny, miny, moe.”
They both laughed. Evans’ was boisterous, but Boone’s was hard-earned and therefore a source of pride.
“You’ve got a talent for one-liners, Jo.” Boone’s smile lingered, wide and full. And damn, I didn’t blame him for keeping that thing under wraps. It was lethal.
I shrugged, trying not to be overly flustered by his handsomeness. “I’m a natural snarker. Come from a long line of them.”
Boone’s smile had faded to a lopsided smirk as his gaze gave me a slow once over, from my hair, to my face, to my torso visible above the bar. I wished I had made a little effort before coming to Genie’s, rather than staying in my comfortable driving outfit: black leggings, sweatshirt, and my typical top puff of ringlets.
Evans cleared his throat. “Now that y’all are friendly, please excuse me for a minute. I need to speak to Dale over there.” He gestured vaguely and hopped off his barstool. Then he was gone.
Which left me with the undivided attention of one attractive gargoyle. “So you think I’m the bad cop, huh?” he asked.
“I didn’t say bad. Stoicism can have its own allure.”
He wasn’t smiling anymore. And yet I could swear my answer amused him. The man was “smizing” at me.
“Then you think I’m the alluring cop.”
I did something between a gasp and a laugh. “I didn’t say that either!” After a moment of his continued smizing, I added, ”You seem to be doing alright without your wingman.”
“Am I?” He said significantly.
I couldn’t explain how flustered he made me. Attractive men had flirted with me before, and I generally have no problem interacting with strangers. But whatever the reason for my awkwardness, I shook it off. Because being alone with him presented an opportunity.
I glanced around to make sure no one would hear us and made my tone serious. “Real talk, Deputy Boone.”
His eyebrows ticked up a hair, waiting for me to speak.
“Do I have to be worried about overzealous law enforcement when I’m driving around these parts?”
All hints of flirting dissipated. He moved into Evans’ empty seat, closing the distance between us.
“I can assure you all of the deputies in this county are good and fair police. But, depending on where you go in the park, you may be driving outside the county.”
I nodded. “And you can’t vouch for their goodness or fairness.”
He didn’t frown, but again I was reading his microexpressions to parse his emotions. And there was now sadness, maybe helplessness. “No ma’am, I can’t.”
I let out my breath slowly, giving a slight nod as I stared down at the bartop.
“Have you,” he tilted his head to catch my eyes, “had to deal with that? Up North?”
“Of course. Since I was little, when my dad was driving, or even just by myself…” I trailed off. There was no need to fill in the details. Surely Boone had his own stories. We all did.
I was a mixed race city girl from the North, and he was a black cop in the rural South. But we sat in a moment of shared commiseration, our heads bowed close across the corner of the bar.
The band started playing twangy guitar music. I jolted, looking around. Genie’s had grown busier, with maybe two dozen people inside.
Boone’s gaze moved over me again. “How long does the spring migration last?”
“Uh… through early June.”
I got the impression my answer pleased him—maybe it was the slightest uptick of his lips, or more barely-there smizing. Having a conversation with this man was like trying to identify rove beetles down to species. Take it from me, this is difficult. There are thousands of species in North America alone, and they’re all similar. To figure out which is which, you have to use a microscope to see the tiniest differences in ridge patterns on the wing coverings.
I couldn’t put Boone’s face under a microscope, obviously. If I leaned closer maybe I could decipher more facial hints.
He interrupted my creepy leaning when he asked, “You’ll be here for six weeks?”
Before I could answer, Evans returned, claiming the stool next to Boone. “Now, where were we?” He looked between us, taking in our proximity. “I hope you two had that birds and bees discussion while I was gone.”
Boone exhaled audibly, a flash of annoyance crossing his features. He stood and held his hand out towards me. “Jo, will you dance with me?”
“I…” I glanced at Evans, because he had technically asked me first. But he didn’t seem upset. In fact he gave me a nod of encouragement.
“Yes.” I placed my hand in Boone’s, sliding my palm along his. A chill radiated up my spine. Or not a chill, really. But a… sensation. My gaze tangled with his, and I saw a hint of confused recognition reflected back at me. His hand tightening on mine, he led me to the dance floor where two other couples were already dancing.
