Tempting the Mountain Man: An Age

Gap Instalove Romance (Lumberjacks

of Blackbear Bluff Book 1) Lilah Hart
Visit to download the full and correct content document:
https://ebookmass.com/product/tempting-the-mountain-man-an-age-gap-instalove-ro
mance-lumberjacks-of-blackbear-bluff-book-1-lilah-hart/
TEMPTING THE MOUNTAIN MAN

LILAH HART
 Lumberjacks of Blackbear Bluff, Book 1
Version 1.0204

Copyright © 2024 Lilah Hart

All rights reserved.

No parts of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or
otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior
consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent
purchaser. Under no circumstances may any part of this book be photocopied for resale.

This is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and co-incidental.

Cover Design by Designrans

Copyediting by Brandi Zelenka | My Notes in the Margin Book Services | mynotesinthemargins.com
 CONTENTS

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Epilogue
 1
HANNAH

“T hey’reI stepped
chopping wood half-naked again.”
back from the window of our food truck and looked over at my sister. Tinley was staying with me for a
couple of weeks while I helped get my boss’s food truck going. Every morning this week, we’d come to this worksite,
providing coffee and breakfast to the hard-working guys on the Blackbear Bluff logging crew.
Tinley shrugged and took another bite of the apple fritter. “Tell me when they put their shirts back on. Show-offs don’t
impress me.”
I looked out the window again. The guy they called Wes stood in front of the tree stump, his muscles gleaming in the sun.
He lifted the axe and swung it at lightning speed toward the wood.
Thwack.
The sound cut through the air, bouncing off the trees and causing Tinley to jump. Since she wasn’t watching, she wasn’t
prepared for the axe to land. I looked at her and when I turned back toward the window, I was the one who jumped.
“Coffee. Black.”
The words came from a man standing in the window. He had broad shoulders like the other guys, but unlike the other guys,
this one’s shoulders were clothed. They’d stay clothed too. This guy didn’t participate in these daily competitions.
“Sure,” I said. Then, for the fourth time that week, I asked a question I knew would get a no. “Would you like an apple
fritter with that? Maybe a banana nut muffin?”
The guy shook his head, but his penetrating stare made me nervous. It went all the way to my heart, maybe even lower.
Okay, definitely lower. This guy just took control of every nerve ending.
“Hey, Tucker,” one of the guys called out behind him. “You going to wuss out on us again?”
I saw the muscle in the guy’s jaw twitch. Tucker. That was his name. I liked that name—strong, sexy. It fit.
“Give me one of something,” he said. “Whatever your specialty is. Something that takes a while to eat.”
I held in a smile. I’d noticed this guy sitting off to himself while everyone else joked around and had fun. It made me
curious about him. What was his story? Why did he seem to prefer his own company to the company of others? And why did I
relate so well to that?
“You should offer him one of our sweetheart muffins.” My sister pushed herself to her feet and walked over to the box that
held them. “Those take a while to eat.”
I flashed her a look, but her attention was on the items in front of her. Tinley had this thing about our grandma’s muffin
recipe. I thought it was complete nonsense, but our grandmother, who we called Birdy, swore this muffin recipe brought
together my grandparents, parents, aunts, and uncles.
We’d yet to try it outside the family, which was exactly why I’d pushed back at Tinley’s suggestion that we make a batch
and sell it.
“I’ll take one of those,” Tucker said. “And a few extra napkins.”
“Planning to be messy?”
The words slipped out of me, sounding a lot more flirtatious than they should have. He was a customer. I should be
professional.
But wasn’t flirting encouraged? It was the very reason my boss came out here in short shorts and a tank top. My shorts were
a little longer, but the tank top did little to disguise my ample cleavage under this pink polka-dot apron.
That comment just brought a confused stare from the guy. Then he glanced at the card reader.
“What’s my total?” he asked.
So, he wasn’t into flirting with his barista. Got it.
“Here you go.” I slid the screen around to face him. “I’ll get that coffee for you.”
 My hands were shaking as I made what was a very basic order. Most of these guys were black coffee types, but they did
have a couple of lattes in the mix. There’d probably be more if it weren’t for all the macho one-upmanship on these job sites.
“One coffee,” I said in my most cheerful voice.
I had a smile plastered on my face, but deep down, I was just hoping he didn’t notice my hands trembling. If he did, he
didn’t say anything. He just reached out to take the cup from me.
But I was so concerned that he might squeeze it and knock the lid off, I didn’t pay attention to where my fingers were. His
hand landed directly on top of mine, and electricity seemed to shoot all the way from my fingers to my heart. What was
weirdest about it was I’d heard all my life about sparks flying when you met that special someone, but I always assumed it was
just sappy silliness until now.
Our eyes met, and I felt his stare all the way to the depths of my soul. Yes, there was definitely a connection. He felt it. I felt
it. The question was, would either of us do anything about it?
“Enjoy that sweetheart muffin,” Tinley said, amusement coming through in her tone.
Sure enough, when I glanced over at her, she wore a big smile. Her eyes were on the muffin, though, which was still in
Tucker’s right hand. He’d taken a bite out of it at some point.
“I will,” he said, still looking at me.
Then he backed away, not realizing one of the other guys from the crew was right behind him. That guy reached out and put
a hand on each side of Tucker’s bulky shoulders.
“Watch out, man,” the guy said. “You’ll spill your coffee.”
Whatever was going on, Tucker managed to shake it off immediately as he headed over to his usual solo spot. I busied
myself refilling the other guy’s coffee, but my hands were definitely shaking. In fact, it might be a couple of hours before I was
back to normal.
 2
TUCKER

had no idea what was in that muffin those women had given me, but I was pretty sure I’d been drugged. Even Paxton, the
I longtime logger who pretty much ran this group, had commented on my unusually cheerful disposition.
I couldn’t explain it, aside from a spiked muffin. It felt like a cloud had lifted, and it was a cloud that had been looming
over me for more than five years.
Or maybe it was the angelic face of the stunning, curvaceous brunette who’d sold it to me. That smile seemed imprinted in
my head. Not to mention those tits that strained the confines of that tight tank she wore beneath her apron⁠—
“Hey, Tuck,” Aiden said. Aiden was Paxton’s buddy and the second in command when the big boss wasn’t around. “Could
you go grab me another cup of coffee?”
I flashed him a look. Since when had I become his errand boy? But the guy lifted his gaze a little toward the obnoxiously
pink food truck. How could I turn down the opportunity to see the brunette one last time before she headed out of here for the
day?
Aiden started toward me. “I’ll take over here.”
I passed the chainsaw to him, grateful to give my arms a rest. We’d been cutting down trees this morning. Our team was
taking care of the trees the equipment couldn’t reach. It was hard work, but I was used to getting down in the dirt.
As I walked toward the food truck, I wiped my hands on my jeans, noting how covered in dust my clothes were. I hoped
she didn’t mind. A woman as beautiful as the brunette barista deserved a showered guy in freshly laundered clothes, not a
ragamuffin like me.
She was standing at the window, and my heart started beating faster as I approached. I’d been admiring her ample tits and
round ass for a couple of months now. But not until this morning did she plant firmly in my mind as a woman I had to see again
—an addiction of sorts.
Yeah, the muffin definitely had something in it.
“Are you alone in there?” I asked. Did that sound like a proposition? I didn’t mean it that way. “Your friend left?”
“She’s my sister,” the brunette said. “And yeah. They needed her at the bakery. I have to drive this thing back by myself.”
I’d be more than willing to help her with that. Maybe get some alone time with her in the process. Was it possible to have
sex inside a food truck? I could definitely make it work.
“I just need a couple coffees,” I said. “One black and one with a packet of sugar.”
Her mouth tilted up in a smile again, and my heart skipped another beat. I was going to need an electric shock from one of
those sets of paddles if this kept up.
“It’s nice of you to get your coworker coffee,” she said as she headed over to fill my order.
“Do you take a lunch?”
She stopped and looked back at me, eyes wide. Yeah, I was just as surprised as she was that I’d blurted out that question. I
hadn’t asked a woman on a date in more than sixteen years. That was when I met the woman who would become my wife. The
woman who’d stuck by me during my time in the military, including multiple deployments. The woman who’d died five years
ago and turned my entire world upside down.
The barista didn’t answer at first. In fact, she turned back to what she was doing, pouring both coffees before putting the
lids on. As she started toward me, I held my breath, sure I was seconds away from being rejected.
No big deal. If she said no, I’d just play it off that I was curious about her work schedule. Maybe I’d make a joke about
how these were unfair working conditions—everyone was entitled to a lunch break.
She spoke again, setting both cups on the ledge. “I did. In fact, after I finish up here, I’m off for the rest of the day. What
time is your lunch break?”
I grabbed my wallet from my back pocket. “Usually noon. I was going to ask you to lunch, but you might not want to wait
that long.”
There. She had the perfect “out” if she wanted it. I held my breath but tried to appear disinterested as she looked up,
thinking for a moment. I was once again struck by how beautiful she was.
This wasn’t the maybe-drugged muffin. It was me pulling my head out of my ass. For the first time, I was seeing her not as a
pair of tits but as a woman I’d like to get to know better.
As that thought hit me, I waited for the usual guilt to pop up. I’d assumed the next time I was attracted to a woman—really
attracted—it would feel like a betrayal to Angela. Instead, relief washed over me. Maybe I wasn’t destined to spend the rest of
my life completely alone.
“I’ll take this truck back and get my car and come back up here,” she said. “I can even grab us some of Bart’s chicken and
fried potatoes.”
Bart ran the convenience store that was the town’s only gas station. It carried a couple of breakfast items, including some
crullers made by a woman named Edna. At lunchtime, he stepped it up a notch, offering pizza and chicken that he continued to
make until dinnertime.
That place had fed me more nights than I cared to admit. Sandwiches for lunch and frozen dinners got old after a while.
“Sounds like a plan,” I said. “I’m Tucker, by the way.”
I held out a hand for a handshake. It felt like the one step we’d missed—introducing ourselves. But as my much larger hand
engulfed hers, I felt it again. A spark that seemed to run through my entire body. I couldn’t remember ever feeling that with
Angela. And that was when the guilt set in.
But the barista’s smile wiped away that feeling. It was replaced by a warmth that spread through my entire body, replacing
the sparks.
“I’m Hannah,” she said. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Our eyes connected again as we shook once, then split. I missed her touch already.
Sheesh…this could be dangerous. I’d never done a casual relationship before, so if that was what she was expecting, she
was barking up the wrong tree.
I could already tell this woman would be impossible to forget.
 3
HANNAH

had a…date?
I I wasn’t sure what to call it. Maybe to Tucker, it was just a casual lunch. To me, it was sharing a meal with a guy who
made my toes tingle. Other parts of my body too.
But I frowned as I pulled into the lot. Only one vehicle remained parked there. Had they all moved to another job site?
A quick scan of the area, though, and I saw Tucker sitting on that same tree stump where he’d eaten the sweetheart muffin
that morning. He was staring down at his phone. I smiled to myself as I cut the engine and grabbed the big bag of food I’d
picked up at the market. The date was on.
“Did they desert you?” I asked as I reached the midway point between the parking lot and where he sat.
His head jerked up. Whatever he’d been absorbed in obviously was engrossing if he hadn’t even noticed my car pull in.
“They all went fishing,” he said. “They do that sometimes—take their lunches to the lake. I told them I’d just hang back
here.”
He stood and was now approaching me. He held a hand out, and I started to tell him I could carry it, but then I remembered
what a friend in college had told me. Guys liked to feel needed. They liked to carry things and kill bugs and…stuff.
“Thank you,” I said as he took it, his fingers once again brushing mine.
As I battled the warmth that flooded me again, I tried to tell whether taking the bag made him feel needed or not. His face
was completely neutral. This guy was a hard one to read.
“Not into fishing?” I asked.
Tucker looked over at me. “Why would you assume that?”
He sounded a little defensive, but I realized my question made little sense. Tucker had stayed back to have lunch with me,
not because he wasn’t interested in fishing with the guys.
“Fishing is a solo activity,” he said when I didn’t respond right away. “Having multiple people out there just means you
talk, and talking scares the fish away. It’s a waste of time.”
He had a point. We continued past his favorite stump and headed straight toward the woods. We were having lunch in the
middle of a bunch of trees?
“Where are we going?” I asked.
He didn’t respond, just kept walking. I followed him down a path, waiting for tree limbs to slash me in the face, but they
didn’t. Someone had obviously come in and cleared the path at some point.
There was something sad about that. All these trees were being cleared away for some developer, who planned to put a
business here. I had my fingers crossed for a much-needed restaurant. But the path just reminded me that this was once a place
where people came to relax and go for a walk. All of that would be gone by the time these guys finished their work.
Within a minute of entering the woods, the trail dumped us into a clearing. It was a large, empty area, surrounded by trees.
It looked like a great place to pop a tent. Tucker pointed to a group of tree stumps.
“I found these the other day,” he said. “Seems like a perfect place to sit.”
“Yes, perfect.” Smiling, I walked over to three close together and sat on one. “I’ve noticed you tend to sit by yourself.”
He’d plopped down on the stump two over from me, setting the bag on the stump between us. But my words froze his
movements, making me wonder if I was out of line in mentioning it.
Trying to make it seem like it was no big deal, I started withdrawing contents from the bag and distributing them between
the two of us. He watched, saying nothing for a long moment before finally speaking again.
“My wife died.”
Those three words, spoken in a quieter tone than I’d ever heard from him, stilled my movements. I had a cup of potato salad
in my hand, compliments of Bart at the convenience market, so it left me in an awkward position.
 “I’m sorry,” I said. “Recently?”
He shook his head. “More than five years ago. I guess that wouldn’t be considered recent. Nobody really knows that about
me. I moved to this town to leave it behind.”
An image flashed through my mind then. Tucker, sitting all by his lonesome, drinking his coffee while everyone else had a
good time. Knowing what I knew now, my heart ached for him.
“I’m trying to get more involved with the group,” he said. “It’s just…I moved up here to be alone, you know? Playing pool
with a bunch of guys every Friday night isn’t really my thing.”
He reached into the box, grabbed a drumstick, and took a generous bite of it. I distractedly poked at the potato salad while I
thought through my answer.
“I totally get that,” I finally said. “I’d much rather be home alone reading a book than out with a big group.”
I overthought that response as soon as the words were out of my mouth. I didn’t want to sound like I’d prefer being home
alone to being on a date with him. Being home alone with a guy like Tucker would be preferable to all of it. Especially if we
were naked under the sheets.
Whoa. Where had that thought come from? That wasn’t like me at all.
“You like to read,” he said. “What type of books?”
I’d like to say I was into classic literature. I’d certainly read enough of that in high school. But for some reason, I blurted
out the truth.
“Romance, mostly,” I said. “The steamier, the better.”
I waited for the judgment—the words I’d heard from people most of my adult life about my choice of reading material. I
was also into reality TV shows, which got more than a few snickers from friends over the years. I had friends who were into
the same things I was, though, so I didn’t really care what the judgy people thought.
But the change in his expression was not what I expected at all. In fact, for once, his response wasn’t completely neutral.
His eyebrows arched and his head tilted a little.
“You like them steamy, huh?”
There was something undeniably flirtatious about the way he asked that question. But more importantly, for the first time in
my life, I felt comfortable opening up to someone about my constant quest for the perfect steamy romance.
My friend Helena always said I just needed to get laid, but the truth was, I wanted what I read about in books—the guy
who’d take charge. The more experienced man who could make up for my complete lack of experience and show me what I’d
been missing all these years.
“I’ve never read one of those,” Tucker said, adding a laugh. “Of course, I haven’t. What exactly are they about?”
That was a tough question to answer. “There are all kinds of steamy romances. There are some with bondage and spanking,
some sci-fi, even monster romances…”
“Monster romances?”
I laughed. “Yeah, that was an interesting one to me too. Women falling in love with orcs. They take male form, though. It’s
complicated. Oh, and why choose, which used to be called reverse harem.”
Now he stopped chewing to stare at me. He didn’t even have to say anything. His expression said at all.
“Reverse harem is three or more men and one woman,” I explained.
He swallowed but continued to stare at me. “Is that what you’re into?”
I shook my head. “One man, one woman. That’s my thing.”
“Mine too,” he said. “Well, not in romance novels. In real life.”
I felt a little sting of jealousy. He’d said his wife had been gone more than five years. Did that mean he’d been celibate that
whole time, or was he like some of the other guys who traveled to some bar over in Boone to find women? This town had a
total lack of women. No single ones, anyway, aside from me and my sister. Oh, and my boss Reese, but judging by the flowers
she’d received a couple of weeks ago, she might not be so single anymore.
“So, what type of sex scenes do you like in those novels of yours?” he asked.
I’d gotten a little distracted by my jealousy, which meant Tucker’s use of the word “sex” caught me off guard.
“Just kinky enough to be interesting,” I said. “Sex in strange places or interesting positions. Maybe him doing her from
behind while grabbing her breasts.”
I was acting out the scene as I talked, my hands curled in front of me as though to demonstrate how he’d grab them. What
was going on with me? You’d think I was the one who’d eaten the sweetheart muffin that morning.
“I don’t know if I get it,” he said. “Maybe you could show me.”
I’d just taken a swig from the bottle of water I’d set on the ground next to me. At his words, I choked a little. Just enough to
make a fool of myself.
“You know, we do have all the elements for a good steamy romance right here,” he said. “Outdoors on a warm day. You
could take off your clothes and brace yourself on that tree… If you wanted to, that is.”
He looked down at the half-eaten fried potato in his hand, and for a long moment, I was sure he was changing his mind.
Seconds ticked by. Yes, he was definitely having second thoughts. I saw my chance to have hot sex with my dream man floating
away like a leaf on the breeze.
I had to catch it before it was gone.
“Let’s do it,” I said.
I tossed my last chicken bone into the bag we’d been using for trash. Then I stood, wiping my hands on the napkin, which I
also tossed into the bag. I was already unbuttoning my shorts as I started toward the tree he’d indicated. By the time I looked
back to see if he was coming, my shirt was off too.
Oh yes, he was definitely coming.
 4
TUCKER

hat the hell was happening?

W It felt like a dream. Like I was still sitting over at the worksite, fantasizing about the woman I’d been thinking about
all morning. But it was very much real, and she was removing her bra and panties just feet away from me.
What did I do now? Remove my own clothes? Touch her? I didn’t want her to know I was way out of practice when it came
to sex. And I’d never slept with a woman I’d just met. I’d had sex with a high school girlfriend—the backseat, fumbling kind—
and my wife—the long-term, married, mostly missionary kind.
“Turn around,” I said when she stood facing the tree, completely naked. “I want to see you.”
It was the opposite of what I’d suggested back over on that stump. If that was her fantasy, I’d make it happen, but first, I
wanted to see her naked.
She turned, folding her hands over her stomach, then dropping them to her sides. Her gaze darted over to the left. She
seemed to be nervous about looking at me. Shy?
“You’re beautiful,” I said as I scanned every curve and slope of her body. Her breasts were even more beautiful than I’d
imagined—perky and ample and topped with nipples that made my hard cock throb. “Can I kiss you?”
Her gaze met mine, and she nodded. But then she held out a hand as if to stop me.
“In romance novels, the man doesn’t ask. He just takes.”
I lifted my head slightly, then lowered it in what might pass as a nod. I got it, but that wasn’t really my personality. I had to
know a woman wanted it before I “took.” And even then, I was more of a giver.
But she was offering permission. And I wanted nothing more than to give in to every primal urge raging inside me. I wanted
to turn her around and spread those legs, sliding my cock into that sweet, sweet pussy⁠—
“Take off your clothes and fuck me,” she said.
That was all I needed to hear. I jerked my T-shirt over my head and unfastened my jeans, removing those and my shoes so
fast, I wasn’t even sure how it happened. And then my underwear was gone too, tossed off to the side as I moved toward her,
pushing her back toward the tree and using my hands as cushioning between her naked body and the rough bark behind her.
The instant our lips met, I felt it—that electricity that seemed to rush through my body every time we touched. I pressed my
body against hers, my erection poking her midsection. I wasn’t sure if it was that or my tongue probing her mouth that made her
moan.
And then her hands cupped my ass, and I knew I couldn’t hold out much longer. I had to make her come. I broke the kiss and
straightened, pulling her away from the tree.
“Turn around.”
Her eyes lit up at the command. Yes, my girl seemed to loved being told what to do in the bedroom. I was all too happy to
deliver.
She leaned forward, aiming her palms toward the tree, but not yet. I had things I wanted to do first.
“Right here,” I said, pulling her body against mine.
Her ass cheeks brushed against my cock, and I had to close my eyes at the sheer pleasure that rushed through me. This was
all about her right now.
“Let me feel those incredible tits,” I said in her ear.
She let out a whimper as I took a breast in each hand. My thumbs grazed her nipples, which brought another gasp. Spurred
on by her reaction, I squeezed each nipple gently between my thumb and forefinger. I longed to flick my tongue over each
pebbled peak, but maybe next time.
There would definitely be a next time.
“Are you wet for me, baby?” I asked.
 “Uh-huh,” she replied. Her voice was higher pitched than usual. “So, so wet.”
“Let me see.” I ran my right hand over her stomach, stopping at her right hip. “Spread those sweet little legs for me.”
Another whimper, followed by a sigh. This was doing it for her. It was doing it for me too, come to think of it.
She shifted, widening her stance while pressing even tighter against me. I slid my hand downward, squeezing my eyes
closed as I parted her folds and slid a finger inside.
“That’s it, baby,” I said. “Open up for me. You’re so wet.”
She lifted her left hand to my shoulder, arching her back against me. The move reminded me not to neglect her breasts. I ran
a finger around her areola, then across her nipple at the same time I began rubbing her clit.
“Oh, God,” she breathed, clearly trying to keep her voice down. “Don’t stop. Yes!”
Her lowered tone reminded me we were in the woods in the middle of the workday. At any minute, my coworkers would
return. They’d have no idea their quiet, loner coworker was getting laid on the other side of the trees.
“I’m going to come,’’ she whispered. My finger moved faster, aiming to get her where she needed to go. “Ohhhh.”
That last one was said a little louder. Still not much above a whisper, but it was like a siren in the silence that surrounded
us. I didn’t slow my movements until she moved away, finally turning to face me.
“I want you to fuck me, Tucker.”
I don’t know what turned me on more. This delicate beauty asking me to fuck her, the sound of my name in that breathless
voice, or the way her fingers wrapped around my shaft as she drew my mouth down for a long, passionate kiss. Whatever it
was, if I didn’t bury this cock in that pussy soon, I might just explode.
And then she stepped back a little and knelt. Looking up at me, she leaned forward and wrapped those sweet lips around
my cock. We stayed locked in that stare as she took me in as far as she could, sliding her tongue around as she moved.
“Oh, God.” I finally couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore. I closed them, settling my hands at the back of her head as she
moved out, then headed back to the base again. “That’s it.”
She pulled back, then ran her tongue over the tip, using her hand to stroke as she moved. When she took me all the way in
again, I knew I had to stop her. If I didn’t, I’d come right here in her mouth, and that wasn’t how I wanted to finish.
“Stand up,” I said, looking down at her.
With wide eyes, she looked up at me and pulled back. But her hand continued to stroke as she stood and looked up at me,
heat in her stare.
Yes, she wanted this. She wanted me to fill her up. She wanted me to fuck her and make her moan and call out my name.
“Turn around,” I said. “Up against the tree.”
A smile slowly spread over her face. And that was when a sudden realization slammed into me.
This was the woman I’d spend the rest of my life with.
It was absurd, I knew, but it was also fact. I’d go to the ends of the Earth to make this woman happy. As long as she’d have
me, there was no one else for me.
“Like this?” she asked.
Both palms were flattened against the tree and her legs were spread. That hot, wet pussy was just waiting for me to fill it.
“Perfect,” I said, stroking myself as I neared her. “Are you ready for me?”
She nodded, then spread a little wider. Was it my imagination, or did she look like she was bracing herself? Like she
thought something painful was about to happen.
As I entered her, my entire body seemed to sigh in relief. She was so tight and wet. Her pussy seemed to embrace my⁠—
“Ahhhh,” she cried out.
I froze. That wasn’t a positive cry. It sounded...
Like something painful was about to happen.
My thought from seconds earlier came back to me. Her agonized cry, the way she braced herself. Was it possible…?
“What’s wrong?” I asked, pulling back.
“No!” she said, no longer bothering to keep quiet. “Don’t stop.”
“You’re in pain.”
Sighing, she straightened and turned to look at me. “This is my first time. I’m just a little tight, that’s all.
She added a shrug to the end of that, as if her virginity were no big deal. I had no idea why she’d never done this before.
All I knew was her first time shouldn’t be here, in the woods.
Reaching out, she took my hand. “This is everything I dreamed my first time would be.”
“Here?” I gestured to indicate our surroundings. “It’s not⁠—”
“It is,” she said. “We can do it in a bed with candlelight the next time.”
I smiled. “You assume there will be a next time.”
“Yep.” She rose on tiptoe and planted a kiss on my lips. “One taste of this, and you’ll keep coming back for more.”
She wasn’t wrong about that. I’d never be satisfied with just one taste of this woman.
We were both still smiling as she turned to face the tree. She resumed her earlier position, but I hesitated. I didn’t want to
hurt her.
I took a deep breath and approached. I’d just go slowly. I’d wait until it felt better for my sweet angel.
Easier said than done. As soon as I penetrated her again, I remembered how good it felt. Too good. Going slow was like
trying to eat my favorite dessert, one microscopic bite at a time.
“Deeper,” she said after I stayed close to her opening. “Yes. Like that.”
I still moved cautiously, but soon, she was gasping and moving her hips in time with my thrusts. I saw her release her right
hand from the tree and move it between her legs.
She was touching her clit as I eased in and out. Just knowing that almost pushed me over the edge. I’d touch her clit and
stroke her breast like I’d done earlier, but the angle was too steep. Instead, I focused on holding out until I was sure she’d
climaxed.
“Harder,” she said in a raspy, strained voice. “Oh yes. Just like that.”
Her pussy clenched around my dick, then released, then clenched and released again and again. That, along with her gasps,
told me she was coming. That gave me what I needed to let go.
“Ohhh,” was the sound that came out of me as my balls tightened and my dick pulsed inside her.
It was my first orgasm inside a woman in more than five years. And it felt better than anything I’d ever experienced.
Yes, she was right. One taste of her, and I’d definitely come back for more.
 5
HANNAH

hat’s up with you?”

“W Tinley asked that question as she sat on the stool in the food truck, watching me wait on the guys from the logging
crew. I refused to leave this spot. I was watching for Tucker.
“What do you mean?” I asked distractedly.
“You’re... weird today. Did you make out with that grumpy lumberjack?”
That question snapped my head to the right. Tinley was eating one of our sweetheart muffins. Apparently, the magic love
powers didn’t apply if she ate it.
Her eyes narrowed. “You did. You made out with him.”
“We aren’t sixteen,” I said.
“What does that mean?”
I didn’t have an answer for that. I couldn’t tell my sister the truth about what happened at lunch yesterday. We’d done far
more than make out. But Tinley and I were raised by very strict parents…good girls didn’t do what I’d done yesterday.
I was kind of enjoying being a bad girl, though.
“Customer.”
Tinley’s sudden comment threw me off, especially since she suddenly had a huge smile. When I turned to the window, I saw
what had put that smile there. Tucker was the customer.
“Hi,” I said.
My voice sounded abnormally cheerful. Did he notice? Did my sister notice?
“Coffee,” Tucker said. “Black.”
My smile froze. He wore a pair of sunglasses and his usual neutral expression. It was like yesterday had never happened.
“Sure,” I said.
In a complete daze, I filled a coffee cup, added a lid and sleeve, and took it to the window. By then, Tinley had taken my
place there and was trying to talk Tucker into another sweetheart muffin.
“You didn’t like it?” Tinley asked.
“Didn’t say that. How much?”
I tapped in his coffee order on the screen and totaled it without saying a word. And then he was gone, leaving me
wondering what was going on.
My first theory was that I’d just been a quick lay. What single man wouldn’t take the opportunity to have sex on his lunch
hour? He hadn’t known until we were pretty far along that I was a virgin.
My second theory was more likely, though. We’d parted with a smile and a kiss, but he’d had second thoughts after leaving.
His wife died more than five years ago, he’d said. Maybe I’d been the first sex he’d had since. Or the best. Or maybe our
chemistry stirred up emotions. He could even feel like he was betraying his late wife.
“You have everything under control here?” Tinley suddenly asked.
I looked up, surprised. I’d been working hard in the corner, trying to stay far away from the window.
“I should go too,” I said. “It really doesn’t make sense to stay here until eleven. These guys rarely spend more than a few
dollars after ten o’clock.”
Tinley tossed her apron aside and stared at me, a hand on each hip. “Okay, now you’re avoiding the grumpy lumberjack.
Something’s definitely up.”
“No, it’s fine.” I shook my head. “I’ll stay. Go back to the bakery.”
“Avoiding the convo.” Tinley shook her head. “I’ll let you off the hook this time. But only because Reese is showing me
how to make apple fritters. See you back at the bakery.”
 I wasn’t completely off the hook. She’d question me relentlessly once we were alone again. But I’d figure out how to deal
with that once I made it through the next hour.
“Coffee girl, you in there?”
When I heard the male voice midway through cleaning syrup nozzles, my heart leaped. I wanted it to be Tucker. I wanted it
with everything I had. But this guy was the one who liked iced coffee.
“Sorry.” Wiping my hands on my apron, I crossed to the window. “May I help you?”
“Some of us are dying of thirst,” he said. “Could you bring a load out to us? Thanks.”
I didn’t miss the hint of a smile. The request itself was weird. We offered free bottled waters as a courtesy, but they never
had me exit the truck to bring anything to them.
I grabbed as many bottles as I could carry and headed out of the truck. The guys were gathered near the big piece of
equipment that knocked down trees.
There were seven on this crew, and they worked their asses off. I didn’t doubt for a second they needed these bottled
waters. What I doubted was that they needed me to bring them.
“Tuck, go grab those waters,” I heard Paxton say. That was followed by an order for everyone else to get busy loading
fallen limbs onto a nearby trailer.
Tucker headed toward me, staring off to his left as he approached. He still wore sunglasses, so I couldn’t see his eyes, but
it was clear from his tense jaw that nothing had changed.
I thrust the waters toward him, planning to turn and walk away in a huff. But he didn’t take them. He just kept staring off to
the left as he stopped in front of me.
“Yesterday was…” He hesitated, then finally faced me. “It was everything. But I need a little time. It’s too much.”
He shook his head. I pulled the bottles back. It just seemed awkward to keep holding them out.
“Your wife?” I asked.
It felt weird to call her that but saying “Your late wife” seemed insensitive. “Wife” implied they were still married. Being a
widower had to be complicated.
“Yes,” he said.
I still couldn’t see what was behind those lenses, and I had a feeling there was plenty of emotion there. It certainly came
through in his voice.
“At first, it seemed like no big deal to move on,” he said. “It’s been five years. You’d think I’d be over it, and I am. It just
hit me weird last night, that’s all.”
He reached out, and for a heart-stopping moment, I thought he was going to touch my shoulders, maybe even pull me into a
hug. But then I remembered I was holding a batch of bottled waters and his assignment was to take them from me. My hands
were almost numb with the cold, and I hadn’t even noticed. That was how caught up in our conversation I’d been.
As I shifted the bottles to his hands, I couldn’t help but notice he was extra careful not to make contact, grabbing the bottles
toward the middle. I released them and took a step back.
“We’ll talk later,” he said.
I nodded, but I continued on my backward trek, ready to put as much distance between us as possible. The last thing I
wanted was for him to see the tears that were threatening to surface.
I’d really felt something for this guy. I might have even been falling in love. And now I felt foolish for thinking it could
actually work out.
This was no different than the other relationships I’d had. Only this time, I’d lost my virginity.
Suddenly, it wasn’t so fun to be a bad girl anymore. Being a good girl never hurt like this.
I climbed into the food truck and rushed through my closing duties. The faster I could get this food truck back to the bakery,
the better. Then I could cry on my lunch break, repair my makeup, and go back to work behind the counter at the bakery, where
I’d do my best to pretend I was fine. Just fine.
 6
TUCKER

’d fucked up. It took me a full three days to realize that. And in those three days, I hadn’t seen Hannah at all.
I Finally, I had to ask her sister what was up.
“Where’s Hannah?” I asked the second I walked up to the window Friday morning.
There was a desperation in my voice. I heard it, and Hannah’s sister seemed to hear it too. Her smile faded and her
eyebrows arched.
“She’s not here,” she said.
Okay, it was clear this woman wasn’t going to make it easy on me. “Is she at the bakery?”
“Of course.” Hannah’s sister narrowed her eyes at me. “You didn’t think you could chase her out of town by dumping her,
did you?”
“Dumping her?” I asked. “I didn’t dump her.”
“No?” She crossed her arms over her chest, clearly being an overprotective sister. “What do you call it, then?”
“I told her I needed a little time. We weren’t in a relationship.”
“Oh, you’re one of those guys,” she said. “Interested until you get what you want, and then you run.”
Just how much had Hannah told her sister? It didn’t matter. My goal wasn’t to argue with someone else about what I had or
didn’t have with Hannah. My goal was to find Hannah so I could discuss it with her myself.
“So, she’s at the bakery?” I asked.
Hannah dropped her arms and leaned forward. “Don’t bring peonies. It’s already been done. Maybe roses or wildflowers.”
I tilted my head. I was definitely not following this conversation.
“If you’re going to apologize to her,” Hannah’s sister, obviously noting my confusion, said. “The grand gesture that the guys
make in all the romance novels she reads. My sister’s a hopeless romantic. Don’t just show up with a bunch of I’m sorries. You
have to go big or go home.”
I knew I had all the information I needed, but I was still standing here. Why was that?
“Thanks,” I said. “Can I get a black coffee?”
She nodded. “She’ll be closing up the shop by herself tonight.” She walked over to the coffee dispenser. “She’ll close up at
five sharp, though, so you might have to cut out of work early.”
I paid and took my cup, but I was all too aware Hannah’s sister was still watching me. I should just turn and walk away, but
I was too curious about what she seemed to be gearing up to say. So, I waited.
“Don’t hurt my sister,” she said. “She still believes in love.”
Those words stuck with me throughout the day. Luckily, we had plenty of work to do. I kept my mind occupied, but as we
headed into late afternoon, I saw my chance for alone time with Hannah slipping away. She’d only be at the bakery until five.
“Hey, boss man,” I said as I approached Paxton at around 4:30. “Mind if I head out a little early?”
He looked over at me and did a double take. His expression was initially serious, but then it softened when he saw me. I
had been on this crew for two full years and had never once asked for so much as an hour off. I showed up when I was
supposed to, did my job, and never complained.
“You okay?” Paxton asked.
I nodded. “Just a little bit of personal business I need to take care of.”
He glanced toward the parking lot. My truck was there, but a part of me wondered if he was thinking about the food truck.
I’d overheard the guys talking about Paxton dating the woman who managed the bakery, and I assumed that was Hannah’s boss.
So, it stood to reason he might know something was going on between the two of us.
It seemed everybody knew we’d broken off a relationship but me.
“Sure, man,” Paxton said. “See you bright and early Monday morning. Have a great weekend.”
 I nodded and headed over to grab my insulated lunch bag. If anyone else noticed I stepped away, they didn’t show it. But I
did see a couple of them glance over in my direction as I started my truck.
Fine. I’d give them something to talk about.
Hannah’s sister had said a grand gesture was in order to win her over. I didn’t have time for that. I’d just have to pour my
heart out and hope for the best.
As I headed down the main strip, I thought about my late wife. Angela wouldn’t want me to spend the rest of my life alone.
We’d never had that kind of discussion, though. We’d been young and feeling invincible. But we did talk about starting a family,
and she knew how much I wanted kids.
And now, I’d been given a shot at building that life with someone. But had I blown it? Was I doomed to spend the rest of my
days alone and miserable?
That was exactly how it would be if I couldn’t win Hannah back. Because now that I’d met her, I was sure she was the only
woman for me. I just had to make sure she knew that too.
 7
HANNAH

hese mountain men sucked.

T My day started with some guy named Will buying a batch of apple fritters for his pregnant wife. Now, a guy named
Maverick stood in front of me, ordering his wife’s favorite cake. It was their anniversary, and he wanted to make it
special.
“That’s so romantic,” I said, hoping my smile didn’t look forced. “Do you want it decorated?”
“You do that?” he asked.
I laughed. “Well, I don’t. Cheyenne, who owns this bakery, does the decorating. She keeps saying she’ll teach me, but I
don’t have an artistic bone in my body.”
“I know Cheyenne,” he said. “She was the maid of honor in my buddy’s wedding.”
“Interesting,” I said, digging out the pen and order form from the drawer under the point-of-sale screen.
In truth, some story about a Blackbear Bluff wedding didn’t interest me at all right now. I just couldn’t seem to get my mind
straight. All I could think about was that I was destined to die alone because the one man I thought I could spend the rest of my
life with wasn’t over his late wife.
Once Maverick’s order was placed and he was out the door, I glanced at the time on my fitness band. Just twenty more
minutes and I could close this place up. Maybe I could talk Tinley into heading over to Scoreboard Bar and Grill. I could
drown my sorrows in red wine and the unhealthiest, most decadent item on their menu.
I closed my eyes, letting a smile wash over my face. I sighed as I pictured myself biting into a thick, juicy cheeseburger. But
unfortunately, that image was immediately replaced by the look in Tucker’s eyes that day as he looked down at me. I’d been so
sure I saw my feelings for him reflected back at me. How could I have been so stupid?
The sound of a car door slamming bolted my eyes open. I straightened, hands clasped in front of me on the counter. I braced
myself for the next customer—probably Bryan from the hotel, grabbing a couple of apple fritters to eat on his night shift. Or
Matthew Douglas, stopping by for a doughnut to eat on his way home. He always snuck those in so his wife didn’t know he was
cheating on his diet.
But what appeared on the other side of that glass was not Matthew or Bryan. It was Tucker.
I sucked in a breath and blinked several times, sure I must be imagining things. Instead, he pulled on the door and stepped
inside, looking around. Verifying I was alone, maybe?
“Hi,” I said. I was squeezing my thumb between my other thumb and forefinger. At this rate, I wouldn’t be surprised if I cut
off the circulation.
“Hi.”
Tucker stopped just inside the entrance, looking around. Was he here to buy something? Maybe he needed a decorated cake.
“May I help you?” I asked in the same voice I’d used with every other customer that day.
That got his attention. He finally directed his stare at my face. For the first time since our encounter in the woods, I felt that
undeniable spark.
Crap, it was going to suck to walk away from this.
“Your sister said you’d expect some big gesture,” he said, not budging from his spot. “That just saying I’m sorry won’t do.”
I frowned. “Gesture? My sister?”
He’d talked to my sister about me? That made sense, I guessed. She’d been at the worksite alone most of the week, helping
me avoid Tucker.
“But I didn’t have time to find wildflowers to bring you.” Tucker glanced over his shoulder. “I think the closest florist is a
half hour or so away.”
I had no idea. But I was more interested in hearing about that grand gesture. Did I dare get my hopes up?
 “I shut myself off from the world when Angela died,” Tucker said. “I didn’t realize it until this week, but I was afraid to
care about anyone.”
“That makes sense.” I nodded. “After a loss like that.”
“But that’s not why I pushed you away.”
I held my breath. This was it. This was where he’d break my heart.
“I never really considered how I’d feel about moving on,” he said.
Sighing, he looked around. That was when it became clear. He was gathering courage. This conversation wasn’t easy for
him.
“So, when I met you and we…” He winced. “Well, you know. That was when it all came rushing in. For the first time, I let
the guilt through.”
“Guilt about moving on?” I asked.
He looked at me again. “Guilt over it seems the natural response. I should feel like I’m betraying her. Instead, it feels like
you’re the person I’m meant to start a family with.”
Adrenaline rushed through my body. It was as though, for the first time in days, I could breathe.
“I hope that’s not too much.” He took a half step forward. “It’s all I can think about all of a sudden—this feeling that you’re
the missing piece of the puzzle.”
“It’s not too much,” I somehow managed to say. “It’s exactly how I feel.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know it’s not a grand gesture, but I’ve been a complete ass. I’ll bring you wildflowers, I promise.”
I shook my head. “Just buy me a cake on our anniversary.”
He might not completely understand what the cake was about, but he smiled and nodded anyway. “Now, how about we
head over to Scoreboard for some dinner?”
Wow. Had he read my mind? Only now, instead of drowning my sorrows, I’d be celebrating. And that celebration would be
with the man I loved.
 EPILOGUE
TUCKER

fter a long, hard day of work, home looked better than ever. I’d grab a beer from the fridge, kick back, and watch my
A two-year-old play.
“No!”
“Jake, come here.”
“No!”
The voice of that two-year-old seeped through our front door, greeting me as I approached. Jake was going through his “no”
phase, but Hannah had the patience of a saint.
I pushed open the door, fully prepared to help out where I could. We were trying for a little brother or sister for Jake, but
this “no” phase had us both wondering if we should wait a little longer.
“Daddy!” Jake shrieked.
He was sitting on his booster chair at the table, but instead of having dinner all over his face as usual, he was completely
clean and fully dressed in pants and a T-shirt. As he turned in his seat to face me, I saw the shirt read Happy Birthday.
“What do we say?” Hannah asked our son.
Together, they yelled out, “Happy Birthday!” Well, Jake sounded like he was saluting “Bird Day,” but that made it even
cuter.
My heart filled with joy. Hannah had said we would celebrate my birthday on the weekend since weeknights were so
hectic. Because of that, I hadn’t expected this at all.
“Thank you, guys,” I said. “What a surprise.”
“Come see!” Jake yelled out.
And that was exactly what I did. On the table in front of Hannah, just out of Jake’s reach, was a round cake with white icing
and the words Happy Birthday in fancy writing across the top.
The best part of the cake, though, was the tropical theme. I didn’t get it, though. We lived in the mountains, not near the
beach.
“I’m going to stay with Aunt Tinley!” Jake announced. “For seven nights. Right, Mommy?”
Hannah nodded at our son, then shifted her smile back to me. “We’re taking that honeymoon we never got. You can’t say no,
either. I’ve already talked to your boss, and he’s more than happy to give you a long overdue paid vacation.”
Vacation. My entire body relaxed at the thought. But mostly, the idea of having Hannah to myself for seven days and nights
filled me with excitement. We did pretty well sneaking in a quickie here and there, but sometimes having a toddler in the house
was like being a teenager again. It was almost impossible to have sex in your own home without the fear of being caught.
“Candles, Mommy!” Jake said, pointing at the cake.
“Oh, right.” Hannah turned and rushed to the kitchen, returning seconds later with a wand lighter. “Let’s get this cake lit.”
I dropped down onto the seat next to Jake and gave him a kiss on the forehead. He smiled up at me, but as soon as his mom
started lighting candles, I was last week’s news. Jake was amazed by the way his mom could turn a wick into a flame by just
touching the fire on the lighter to it.
“I hope we don’t have a little pyromaniac on our hands,” I joked.
Hannah straightened and glanced over at our son. “He’ll be fascinated by something else in a minute or two. He’s easily
entertained these days. Okay, make a wish.”
How did a man make a wish when everything he ever wanted was right in front of him? I closed my eyes and wished for
the health and safety of the people I loved most in the world. Then I opened my eyes and blew out the candle.
“Let’s eat cake,” I announced.
TUCKER AND HANNAH join the mile-high club in this bonus scene, available only to newsletter subscribers. Click here to get
some bonus steam!
Aiden can’t resist Hannah’s sister, Tinley, in Book 2 in the Lumberjacks of Blackbear Bluff series. Get Soothing the
Mountain Man now.
And don’t miss Paxton and Reese’s love story. It’s free with newsletter signup. Get it here.
Click here for a complete list of Lilah’s books.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
Swiftly we released her from the tape and wire that silenced and
bound her; then, to our astonishment, we found that she was
chained by the ankle to an iron post of the bed. The Chief
immediately set to work to unfasten the chain, which looked like an
ordinary dog-chain.
By this time, McGinity had discovered a light fixture in the wall, near
the front window, containing one bulb, which he turned on. Mrs.
LaRauche stared dazedly from one to the other of us, giving me no
sign of recognition, although I addressed her by name. But she
appeared to comprehend what we were up to. Still unable to speak,
she raised one hand weakly, and pointed towards the window in the
back of the room, behind the bed.
In doing this, she furnished us with an important clue. LaRauche had
escaped through this window, which was set in the Mansard roof,
and gave on to a broadish ledge, sufficient wide for a person to walk
on. This ledge extended clear around the house.
"We've got to get LaRauche!" Chief Meigs exclaimed, but he couldn't
get through the window because of his rather portly physique. Nor
could I. McGinity, slim in figure, managed it nicely. He had such good
eye-sight that he could distinguish objects which were beyond the
view of normal-sighted people. And he was hardly outside, on the
ledge, and debating whether he should turn to the left or the right,
when he espied a figure, crouching in the dark, at the far end of the
roof extension.
"You see it?" he asked Chief Meigs, who was leaning out of the
window.
"I can't see a damn thing," the Chief replied.
"Next time, you'd better bring your opera-glasses," the reporter
suggested, ironically.
"I wonder if it is LaRauche?" said the Chief, thoughtfully.
"It's a man, at any rate," said McGinity. "Looks like he's wearing
black trousers and a white shirt. No coat or hat at all. He's got bushy
white hair."
"Then it's LaRauche," the Chief exclaimed. "Call to him, and tell him
to come back into the house. Say it's no use trying to escape."
McGinity did as the Chief requested, and there came in reply a
cackling laugh.
"I heard that," said the Chief. "It's the laugh of a maniac." Then he
added quickly: "What's he doing now?"
McGinity did not reply immediately. He had seen something very
strange happen. LaRauche had mysteriously disappeared—
vanished into the air.
"He's gone!" the reporter cried at last. "Escaped! He just flew off the
roof."
The Chief gave a groan of disappointment. "Oh, come back in!" he
ordered gruffly. "Don't be funny!"
McGinity came back through the window, his knees a little unsteady.
Then he explained what he had seen. LaRauche had floated off the
roof, into the air, lightly but swiftly, taking a downward course, and
had been swallowed up in the darkness below.
"You don't expect me to believe a fairy story like that?" Chief Meigs
growled. "Here, let's get downstairs. We're wasting time."
"It's the gospel truth, officer," McGinity declared, vehemently; "but
how he did it is a puzzle to me."
It was no puzzle to me. I had always considered LaRauche mad, and
mad scientists work in a strange, mysterious way. His vanishing into
the air, from the roof, might have a perfectly natural explanation.
Having my own views, which I was not inclined at the moment to
expose, for fear of further disgruntling the Chief, I said nothing.
Five minutes after the Chief and McGinity had gone downstairs, the
reporter to search for LaRauche in the back-yard, while Chief Meigs
reported the mysterious death of Orkins, and summoned medical aid
for Mrs. LaRauche, by telephone, my attention was again attracted
to the back window. This time it was by a bright glare of light.
Hurrying to the window, I was made speedily conscious of what was
happening. LaRauche had, indeed, escaped from the house by way
of the roof, in a manner yet to be revealed, and was now, apparently,
making a quick getaway in his plane.
He had set off a magnesium flare. The small hangar and flying field
were bathed in a weird and eerie silver-colored haze. His plane was
in sight. Even at this distance, I caught the glint of its wings in the
silver-colored light as it taxied across the field. With a roar, it shot
upward, and was lost in the blackness of the night.
McGinity had heard the noise of the take-off, and came running up,
to learn from me, and make sure his speculations, that LaRauche
had really vanished from the roof, as if by magic, and was now
escaping in his plane. I assured him on these two points very firmly
and quickly.
And while he hurriedly retraced his steps downstairs, to report to
Meigs, I again turned my attention to Mrs. LaRauche, whose mind,
although still in confusion, was slowly clearing.
Later, we were to hear some very remarkable things from her.

XXVIII
My intuitive feeling that we had a night's work before us, which I had
voiced prophetically to McGinity earlier in the evening, as we started
for the LaRauche place, with only the faint clue of a woman's voice
on the telephone to go on, proved conformable to fact. Dawn was
breaking when we returned to the castle, weary and heavy at heart.
The place was silent; the only sound that came to us was the swish-
swish of the incoming tide, as it broke against the rocks at the foot of
the cliff.
We were both so saddened and unstrung over our unpleasant and
tragic experiences during the past twenty-four hours, and so
physically dog-tired, that we were averse to talking them over.
The three tragedies, occurring so closely together, first, Niki, then Mr.
Zzyx, and now, Orkins, after all, seemed to have been so
unnecessary; or, as Henry had voiced his opinion about Mr. Zzyx's
fearful death, so senseless. And while there was a logical connection
between them and the perpetration of the Martian hoax, so far they
had contributed little or nothing in clearing up the mystery which was
still baffling us both.
It was here that Mrs. LaRauche came into the picture. My conviction,
from the time I recognized her voice on the telephone, was that she
knew more than any one else did. I had been shocked rather than
distressed at the death of Orkins. A providential death, perhaps, with
LaRauche gone now, and his wife holding the secret.
But where was LaRauche going? Evidently, after the systematic
manner of his escape, he had a set goal. He was an experienced
pilot, and a very expert one, considering his age, and probably knew
of many places where a man could land safely in the dark.
Word of his escape by plane had been broadcast; the machinery of
police watchfulness set in motion along the entire eastern seaboard,
and far inland, as well. Somewhere in the air, a man was flying—
wanted by the police.
Mrs. LaRauche was a badly shaken woman, but her condition was
not serious. I remained at her side until the arrival of an ambulance
physician from the county hospital. He was accompanied by a nurse,
who took her immediately in charge. But she had other ideas than of
going to the hospital. Her brain had cleared considerably, and she
insisted on remaining in her home. I agreed with her on this, and to
the inconvenience of the proprietor of an employment agency in the
village, who had retired for the night, I soon had a competent
manservant, with his wife, on the premises.
By the time they arrived, bringing ample provisions and milk, which I
had the foresight to order, the police had removed the body of
Orkins, as well as all traces of his death. The couple set to work at
once, systematically clearing up and setting things in order. By
midnight, the house was freshened up considerably, and Mrs.
LaRauche made as comfortable as possible in her own, redressed
bedroom, with the hospital nurse in attendance.
What she needed most, the physician decreed, was absolute rest
and quiet. The kindly attentions showered upon her appeared for the
moment to compensate for the loss of her demented husband. She
had come out of a horror, but she was not thinking—or allowing
herself to think—it seemed to me.
The house still seemed empty and queer as McGinity and I drove
away, around one o'clock, trailing Chief Meigs' car back to the
village. The Chief's last act was to station a policeman on guard,
which made me a lot easier in my mind.
The situation was still lamentable enough, but McGinity and I, with
an air of bravado, continued our inquiries on reaching the village.
With police assistance, we had no difficulty in locating the light truck
which Orkins had rented, and once located and properly inspected,
we found nothing to indicate that it had been used to transport the
stolen rocket from the Museum of Science to the East River.
And then McGinity suddenly found something, which was vitally
important. A screw from the rocket. Chief Meigs chuckled; he
couldn't see that a screw could possibly have any bearing on our
situation. When we returned to the police station, I showed him.
"Why, that's just an ordinary screw," he said, after inspecting the
screw more closely. "I don't see how it could mean anything."
"No?" I said. "Then you don't know how they make screws on Mars.
If you think it's just ordinary, here's a screw-driver and a piece of pine
wood. Now, drive it in!"
"That doesn't worry me at all," Meigs bantered. He went to his task
cheerfully, even whistling, and giving a wink to several policemen
who were looking on. But the screw refused to function in the
ordinary way. Finally, he gave it up. "Why the damn thing won't go
into the wood is a mystery to me," he remarked, as he handed the
screw and screw-driver back to me.
"Because it works in reverse to our screws," I explained, as I drove
the screw into the soft wood easily enough by a reverse motion.
"There, I've done the job," I concluded, "which proves conclusively
that only a Martian screw could be jolted out of a Martian rocket. And
as the screw was found in the truck, the van therefore must have
carried the rocket."
The Chief of Police grew pop-eyed in amazement.
"Everything about the rocket has this unusual element," I continued,
"except the metal from which it was constructed, and it is a scientific
fact that the metallic ores which abound on the earth are to be found
in other planets."
The Chief's look of blank astonishment prompted me to go on.
"Now, whatever we may have thought at first about this rocket
having originated on Mars, we know now that LaRauche
manufactured it himself. He had the brain power necessary to create
this fantasy in mechanism, and the means and method of carrying
out his motive, which was to bring my brother Henry to shame."
"All of which stirred the popular imagination, and increased the
circulation of the Daily Recorder half a million," McGinity interjected.
"Well," Chief Meigs drawled, "all I got to say is this. If making screws
that go in backwards is not the act of a lunatic, then I'm crazy
myself."
For several hours, McGinity and I remained at the police station,
occupying ourselves piecing together from this and that all the
information at our command; and at the end, it was as clear as
daylight that we knew no more about the actual perpetration of the
hoax than we did twenty-four hours back. The impression we both
had gained was that tragedy had been obtruded into LaRauche's
suave scheme that was shockingly disturbing, but had nothing
whatever to do with clearing up the case.
There was little or nothing at the LaRauche home for the police to go
on with. No trace of the revolver that had pierced Orkins' heart with
its deadly bullet; no firearms of any sort, in fact. Mrs. LaRauche
heightened the mystery by declaring her husband had an inherent
fear of the use of firearms, as he had of fire, and had never owned a
revolver. Nor was any sort of weapon discovered during the
inspection of his laboratory, or workrooms, in the observatory and
hangar, in which he operated outside his dwelling. No evidence even
was found that would in the slightest degree incriminate him in the
Martian fraud.
The city papers had come by plane, after midnight, and I read them
all with interest. McGinity, fed up on the story, waved them away.
They contained a very full account of what had occurred at the
castle, Orkins' mysterious death, and LaRauche's escape by plane.
About three o'clock, I succeeded in reaching Olinski on the
telephone, at his city home, and he was so upset over the whole
affair, as reported in the papers, that at first all he could seem to do
was to sputter into the mouthpiece.
"I fear, my dear Mr. Royce," he managed to say, finally, "that you and
that reporter fellow have made a great mistake—a serious error. You
have found nothing to prove that the radio message, and the rocket,
did not originate in Mars, now, have you?"
"Nothing," I replied, "except that water-mark we found in the scroll."
"That proves nothing," he fairly shouted. "Some utterly unscrupulous
and wicked person may have changed that scroll after it passed out
of my possession."
"That is your theory, Mr. Olinski?" I asked.
"Can you suggest any other?" he countered. "No; because there can
be no other. Unless you are accusing me of complicity—"
"I didn't say so, Mr. Olinski," I interrupted.
"Yet you believe this Dr. LaRauche, the scientist you've been telling
me about, is at the bottom of this so-called hoax?"
"That is highly possible," I answered. "I myself think so."
"But you have, of course, no idea just how he did it?"
"No idea whatever, but it's quite plain that for motives of his own he
had the opportunity."
"And that," Olinski declared, "that's as far as you've got?"
"At present," I replied.
"And that's as far as you'll ever get, my dear Mr. Royce," he rejoined
in a bitter, sardonic tone, and then suddenly hung up.
When we had thus made an end, a dead silence followed, during
which McGinity and I looked at each other for a moment or two, in
silence. After I had told him what Olinski had said, the reporter
spoke.
"I've put it out of my mind that Olinski had anything to do with this
affair," he said. "The more I think of it, Mr. Royce, the more I'm dead
certain that Mrs. LaRauche is our only hope. Finding her husband
will be a police detail, and several days may elapse before he's
apprehended. Now, if we could get to her, the first thing in the
morning. Do you think that would be possible?"
Before I could answer, Chief Meigs walked in to say that a plane,
answering the description of LaRauche's machine, had passed over
Montauk Point, heading south, a little before three o'clock, had been
picked up by a coast-guard searchlight, but had dodged out of the
light. With this announcement, all thoughts of Mrs. LaRauche
vanished, and—to me, at any rate—did not recur until we had driven
back to the castle at the break of dawn, after a weary vigil of waiting
at the police station to hear further word of LaRauche. But the
reports were blank and disappointing.

XXIX
Interviewing Mrs. LaRauche did not prove as difficult as we had
anticipated. At ten o'clock—McGinity and I were still in bed—the
manservant I had installed at the LaRauche house, telephoned that
Mrs. LaRauche was feeling much stronger, and was most anxious to
see Henry and me on a matter of very urgent business; and would
we please bring along the village Chief of Police, also the young
newspaper reporter who had accompanied the officer and me to the
house the night before.
At eleven o'clock, we drove off. On our way through the village, we
picked up Chief Meigs, and the first thing he did after boarding the
car was to give me a wink, and mutter: "Screws!" Henry was pallid
and trembling. He had been deeply shocked when he learned of
Orkins' death. He seemed to have aged ten years during the night.
McGinity was in a state of excitement. After a late and hasty
breakfast, he and Pat had taken a stroll on the terrace. In spite of the
tragedies and excitement, Pat had come downstairs looking as fresh
and as bright as I had ever known her. I met them as I came out to
get into the car. McGinity had just reached out to take her hand in
his, and she had not drawn it away. She seemed a little breathless.
The strain of the past twenty-four hours, and loss of sleep, had been
too much for me. As we breezed along in the crisp, morning air, I
was no more capable of keeping my eyes open than I was of writing
poetry. My conversation was limited to monosyllabic answers;
between monosyllables, I fell into a light doze.
Nearing the LaRauche place, I became more wide-awake, and
began to speculate whether Mrs. LaRauche knew, and was in a
position to tell, the whole truth. Doubt had entered my mind. Even
after we had been admitted into the house, and had gathered around
her, in a sitting-room adjoining her bedchamber, I felt certain that she
would be able to contribute very little to the sum of information which
we had.
She was dressed in a dark morning gown, and seated in an easy
chair. The heavy window curtains were drawn, to save her eye-sight,
after long imprisonment in a darkened room. In the dim glow of a
shaded lamp, her face appeared pale and worn. Yet her poise was
serene; to all appearances, she was very much mistress of herself.
This was a great relief to me. I was afraid we would have a
quivering, sobbing woman on our hands, and the thought was
terrifying. Only once, when she grasped Henry's hand, on our arrival,
did she show that she was under a strain which was almost at a
breaking point.
She was a comely woman, even in her present pitiable state, and
she had the voice of a woman of refinement and education. I had
often wondered why she had married a man so much older than
herself, and so eccentric. She was LaRauche's second wife. God
knows what became of the first one!
After we had quietly taken seats, Chief Meigs broke the tension of
silence. "Do you feel strong enough to answer our questions, Mrs.
LaRauche?" he inquired.
She nodded, and replied: "I think so."
Then Henry spoke. "I wish to heaven, Mrs. LaRauche, you'd got in
touch sooner with Livingston and me. We've always prized your
friendship very highly, and if it had not been for—"
"Yes; I know," Mrs. LaRauche broke in, as though anticipating his
closing remark; "but I've been unable to communicate with any one
on the outside for several weeks. A day or so ago, I managed to get
the front window open, and waved to a motorcycle policeman, but
apparently he did not see me." She stopped, and glanced nervously
over her shoulder, and added, with a little shiver: "Oh, you don't
know how I've grown to hate this house!" Then, quickly regaining her
self-possession, she looked at McGinity steadily for a moment, and
said: "I haven't the slightest idea who you are. I only know that you
were a very thoughtful and kind young man last night. Are you the
newspaper reporter?"
McGinity nodded, with an embarrassed smile, and was about to
reply when I interjected: "A thousand pardons, Mrs. LaRauche," I
said. "Allow me to present Mr. Robert McGinity, of the New York
Daily Recorder, a young but very capable reporter, in whom we place
every confidence. In fact, we've grown so fond of him, he seems like
one of the family." Turning to Henry for confirmation, I concluded: "I
am quite right, am I not, Henry?"
"Of course, you're right," Henry answered, loudly. "And I don't know
what we're going to do without him when this—er—Martian affair—I
was about to say, Martian inquest—is finished."
I gasped with astonishment at Henry's remarks, while McGinity
turned very red, and said, stammeringly: "Thanks, Mr. Royce." Then
he began to fumble nervously with his inevitable bunch of copy
paper and pencil.
Mrs. LaRauche smiled wanly, and addressed herself again to the
reporter. "I'm so glad you've come, Mr. McGinity," she said, "for what
I'm going to tell, I wish to be given as much publicity as possible. I
want the public to know that Henry Royce was imposed upon, and
that my husband, now a fugitive, although I refuse to believe he's a
murderer, was wholly responsible, with the connivance of Orkins, his
manservant, in carrying out this cruel deception, which, I know, is still
puzzling all of you."
"Even at that, it doesn't seem so incredulous," Henry commented. "I
guess I'm one of the die-hard kind."
There was a little pause, then Mrs. LaRauche turned to Chief Meigs.
"Tell me," she said, "how is the search going? Have the police
discovered any clue to my husband's whereabouts?"
"I'm afraid I can't give you any information," Meigs replied; "no clue
at all."
"It isn't that I want him back," she said firmly, "or would ever want to
see him again, after the many cruelties he practiced on me. But he's
been out of his mind—insane—I'm sure, for weeks now, and is really
unaccountable for his acts."
Her voice had grown shaky, and her face went whiter than it had
been. We remained silent, recognizing the futility of questioning her
until she got control of herself. Our chief interest, of course, lay in the
unraveling of the mystery which still baffled us, and when she finally
got to it, she answered all our questions in a cool collected way.
On my suggestion, McGinity began the questioning, giving us a
specimen of his powers of observation. He omitted no detail of
importance, carefully marshaling his facts and presenting them to
Mrs. LaRauche as expertly as a lawyer examining a witness before a
jury.
"Your married life has been a very unhappy one, hasn't it, Mrs.
LaRauche?" he began.
"Very unhappy," she replied, sighing. "Insolent, quarrelsome, Rene
LaRauche humiliated me in every possible way. I was simply his
housekeeper—a vassal. He was the mighty, brainy scientist, and he
never allowed me to forget it—not for one instant."
"Apparently he did not confide in you?"
"Orkins had been his manservant for some years prior to our
marriage, and to him he entrusted the secrets of his scientific
discoveries and inventions, rather than to me. This was only one of
his many eccentricities, and I submitted to the indignity with
exemplary patience."
"How do you account for his making Orkins a confidant?"
"He was too self-centered, too egotistical, to invite the confidence of
brainy people. He seemed to like to impress—startle—inferior minds
with his discoveries. Orkins was a highly trained servant, and a
general handy man, but he was not intellectual."
"But you could easily have escaped all this bullying and domineering
on the part of your husband?"
"I often considered divorce," was the reply, "but a latent sense of
duty to my marriage vows prevented me from taking that step."
Here McGinity suddenly switched off that line of inquiry, and turned
to another. "Why have you brought us here today?" he asked.
"To disclose certain facts which prove my husband tricked Henry
Royce shamelessly in these Martian revelations."
"When did you come into possession of these facts?"
"Less than a month ago. Up to that time I had been as keenly
interested in the matter, and as gullible as the rest of you, and the
public at large. When Rene found that I had acquired this
knowledge, and that, motivated by a deep sense of justice and fair
play, I meant to disclose the real meaning of these revelations, he
hid my clothes, and locked me up in that attic room, where you found
me."
"How did you manage to get downstairs and phone to the Royce
house, last evening?"
"Orkins, who served my meals, forgot to lock the door after him. He
seemed preoccupied and nervous. It was my first opportunity to seek
outside aid since my imprisonment. I stole out quietly, and crept
downstairs, to the phone in the library, unaware that my husband
was shadowing me."
"And he cut you short, it seems."
"Before I had a chance even to tell my name, he sprang upon me
and choked me off, and then, in his usual cruel manner, bound me to
the chair and bed. He acted like a maniac, I was terribly frightened."
She paused, a little breathlessly, then added: "I am still in some
dilemma as to how my unfinished message was understood."
"You may recall, Mrs. LaRauche, that you spoke to me," I answered.
"Your voice was familiar, yet I couldn't place it at first. Finally, when I
was convinced that it was your voice, the incident put us on the right
track. Mr. McGinity and I already were in possession of several vital,
suspicious facts, and your phone call gave us another important
clue."
Then Henry spoke. "About Orkins. Had you any misgivings, Mrs.
LaRauche, when he entered my service as butler? I took him, you
know, on your husband's recommendation."
"It was not clear at the time," she answered. "Rene invented some
explanation that Orkins wanted to make more money. Now, I know
that he was deliberately planted in your house as a spy, and that he
kept my husband advised on all your secret workings in science. He
betrayed your confidence, as he cold-bloodedly tried to betray Rene,
for that $5,000 reward."
"Do you know anything at all about Orkins' death?" Chief Meigs
broke in, abruptly.
It was a pertinent question to put, but a little cruel. "No," Mrs.
LaRauche replied, almost defiantly. "I do recall hearing a distant,
sharp sound of some sort—it may have been the shot that killed him
—but I associated it with the back-firing of an automobile on the
highway. About an hour later, I heard a noise downstairs."
"That was when I smashed a panel in your front door, probably," the
Chief put in.
"Shortly afterwards," Mrs. LaRauche went on, "my husband entered
the attic room, looking very excited. He threw a sheet over me, and
then I heard him open the back window, and climb through, on to the
roof. I had the uncomfortable feeling that something sinister had
occurred, and that he was bent on escape. But I was bound to the
chair and helpless, and in too much anguish to think clearly."
"Mrs. LaRauche!" McGinity asked suddenly. "We are very anxious to
know how your husband escaped so magically from the roof, like he
had flown to the ground. Have you any theory?"
She smiled faintly, and replied: "Rene invented many peculiar things,
like the robot, now used in all New York subway and railroad
stations, where the traveler's usual questions are answered by a
phonographic voice, by simply pressing a button. He had a great fear
of fire, of being trapped by fire. Some months ago, he installed a
safety device, in case of fire, on our roof."
"What was it like?" I asked, eagerly.
"Simply a heavy wire stretched tautly from the roof to the ground,
and terminating at some distance away from the house, to make the
descent more gradual," she replied. "In case of fire, you step into a
sort of trapeze, which is attached to the wire by a grooved wheel,
and your descent to the ground is something like the 'slide for life,'
often seen at the circus, or in film melodramas. I can see how, in the
dark, it would give the illusion of flying."
 XXX
After the concerted gasp of surprise over LaRauche's weird method
of escape from the roof had died away, McGinity put another
important question: "How did you first discover that your husband
was implicated in these Martian revelations, and that they were a
fraud? Did you find anything—papers?"
"Something like that," she replied.
She took out of the little bag, which lay in her lap, a charred slip of
paper, which she handed to McGinity; and while he passed it round
for our inspection, she continued: "I found this paper in the charred
rubbish, in the log fire-place, in my husband's laboratory, which
Orkins had neglected to clean out. You'll recognize the lettering it
contains as a portion of the code used for the radio messages from
Mars, and its deciphering into English. After I had studied this, I
began a secret investigation on my own, and gradually the scheme
was unveiled to me."
"This detecting business must have been a new and novel
experience," Henry remarked, good humoredly.
"Not exactly," Mrs. LaRauche replied. "You probably don't know—not
many do—that I have written several mystery novels under the pen
name of Martha Claxton."
This disclosure was followed by another concerted gasp of surprise.
After it had subsided, McGinity exclaimed: "Well, that's certainly a
knockout, Mrs. LaRauche! Why, I've read all of your novels, including
the latest one, 'The Country House Mystery,' and I consider Martha
Claxton—you—a close runner to the English Agatha Christie—a
feminine J. S. Fletcher. No wonder your husband, with his jealous
temperament, had this constitutional antagonism against any rival in
his household, in the field of fame."
"Combine jealousy and revenge," Mrs. LaRauche said, "and in these
two forces you have the most perverse evil in the world. Rene was
not only intensely jealous of Henry Royce for his successful findings
as an amateur scientist and astronomer, but he nursed a revenge
against him for the exposé of those faked African jungle films, and
his subsequent expulsion from the Exploration Club. He blamed—"
"Officially, I had nothing to do with it," Henry interrupted, vehemently.
"I simply voiced my belief to a fellow member of the club that the
films looked like fakes to me."
"What raised your suspicions?" Mrs. LaRauche asked.
"Well, I recognized, among those African jungle midgets," Henry
replied, "a Negro dwarf I had seen years ago at a circus side-show.
She was exhibited as a human crow. She had the remarkable
physiognomy and jet blackness of a crow, and she could caw like
one. She must be an old woman by now. In your husband's faked
film, she took the part of a chattering, pigmy grandmother, who was
thrown into the river and drowned because of her great age and
uselessness. As she was engulfed in the river torrent, and sank, I
recognized her pitiful 'caw-caw'."
"Fancy your remembering that," Mrs. LaRauche remarked.
Again Chief Meigs spoke abruptly. "Pardon me, Mrs. LaRauche," he
said, "but how long do you reckon your husband has been out of his
mind?"
She looked startled for a moment, then calmly replied. "He was silent
and brooding for some months past, but I attributed this to his being
deeply engrossed in some new scientific research. It's rather difficult
to say when he passed into the stage of actual insanity. It's my
opinion that all inventive scientists are a little bit cracked." She
hesitated a moment, and smiled apologetically at Henry. "It's my
belief, though," she went on, "that he became definitely deranged
when the success of his scheme centered the attention of the world
upon Henry Royce, and raised him to the heights of fame. Rene had
not figured on this. It was like a boomerang. When he realized that
his scheme was reacting to his own damage, then, perhaps,
something in his brain snapped."
"Have you any personal knowledge of the implication of your
husband and Orkins in the theft of the rocket?" McGinity asked.
She shook her head. "Only a suspicion," she replied. "There were
many, many nights, while I was locked in the attic, when I couldn't
sleep, so I used to listen for sounds from the lower part of the house.
The night the rocket was stolen, I remember distinctly the house was
as quiet as a tomb. I remained awake all night, terrorized at the
thought of being left alone. Towards morning, I heard familiar sounds
again—footfalls in the hall—voices—and went to sleep."
"I wonder what motive prompted LaRauche to do a crazy thing like
that?" I interrogated.
"Dispose of the rocket, and he would be less liable to detection,"
Mrs. LaRauche replied. "He must have become suddenly fearful of
some one tracing the workmanship of the rocket to him. It was public
knowledge that he had made considerable progress in the creation
of a metal rocket, which he hoped, eventually, to catapult to the
moon. No doubt he reconditioned this rocket to meet the
requirements of his mad Martian scheme."
"It's one of the most intricate and puzzling pieces of craftsmanship
and mechanism I've ever seen," I said, glancing at Chief Meigs, who
punctuated my remark with a smile and a wink, and the silent
mouthing of "Screws!"
By this time, McGinity was showing signs of impatience. "If there is
no reason why we shouldn't," he said, emphatically, "I think we'd
better get through with this business now, as quickly as possible.
Mrs. LaRauche is under a great strain, and we must spare her all we
can. So why not let her tell us, in as few words as she can, all she
knows. I leave it to her."
"Very well, Mr. McGinity," she assented, nodding her head two or
three times. Then she began. "There are a great many things I know
nothing whatever about. Some things I say may be true, or partly
true; the rest will be based on my deductions.
"As I've already told you," she continued, "my husband carried on
this work in the greatest secrecy. My curiosity, rather than suspicion,
was aroused when he began to collect scientific books on Mars, and
studies of the ancient inscriptions, cuneiforms and hieroglyphics, of
Babylon and Egypt. He began sending Orkins on frequent visits to
the city. It was Orkins, no doubt, who ordered the making of the
scroll. He fits the old bookseller's description to a nicety—'middle-
aged, well-dressed, well-bred.'
"The time came when Rene dropped his preliminary studies and
research, and applied himself wholly to his work, in the laboratory,
and at his workshop in the hangar. He worked at all hours of the day
and night, in a kind of frenzy. Finally, late in the summer, as I
reconstruct it, matters began to take shape. He must have had in his
possession by that time all the information Orkins had obtained,
surreptitiously, in relation to Henry Royce's and Serge Olinski's
experiments in trying to establish radio communication with Mars.
"Early in August, he did a lot of night flying, always accompanied by
Orkins. The trust he put in that scoundrel, and the money Orkins
must have bled him for! They were usually in the air from nine to
eleven. When I quizzed Rene on the purpose of these night flights,
he said he was conducting a series of meteorological experiments.
But what he was really doing—if my surmise is correct—was flying
high over the Royce castle, or Radio Center, and testing his carefully
thought out Martian code on Mr. Royce and Mr. Olinski, wherever
they happened to be conducting their radio experiments; sort of
baiting them.
"He was perfectly able to do this with the powerful wireless sending
outfit with which he had equipped his plane. Apparently Mr. Royce
and his co-worker were finally satisfied that these signals in code
came from Mars, for we next heard of Mr. Royce erecting two
stations, one designed for transmitting, the other for receiving
Martian radio messages.
"Now, comes the strange story of the public demonstration of direct
radio communication with Mars, at Radio Center. I happened to be in
town that night, having gone there to visit friends, over the week-end,
at Rene's persistent urging that I take a holiday, which was a rather
strange attitude for him to adopt. Up to that time, I was not in the
least suspicious, and listened in that night with a great deal of
enjoyment, although I thought the Martian message, as decoded and
broadcast—well, somehow it seemed perfectly incredulous to me.
"If any man was pleased with the success of this undertaking, Rene
must have been. He achieved it with great risk, in a hazardous flight
into the sub-stratosphere. We must at least give him credit for this
daring feat, also for the cleverness of his Martian code, which he
sent by wireless from this great height, and the perfect artistry of
English into which it was so easily transcribed by Mr. Olinski. My
suspicions of Rene's sub-stratosphere performance, in his plane,
were confirmed after I had discovered a visored aluminum helmet,
and a rubber fabric suit, in which he had received oxygen, hidden
under some rubbish in the hangar.
"It is perfectly amazing to me how he accomplished two such
remarkable feats in one night, transmitting the Martian message from
the sub-stratosphere, garbling it and fading out, to indicate ethereal
disturbance, and dropping the rocket on the water-front. Oh, he must
have dropped it from his plane while flying low over the beach! There
can be no other explanation. He had plenty of time in which to return
to the field, after the altitude flight, attach the rocket under the plane,
on the principle of a bomber, with Orkins' assistance, of course, and
soar off again. The rocket appears heavy, but, as you know, it is
constructed of comparatively light metal, and, without fuel, is easily
handled. The exterior of the rocket was purposely fired in advance, I
found, to give the effect of its having traveled through the earth's
atmosphere at great speed.
"In this stunt, he had the spectacular accessory of the falling
meteors, and he added to the realism by sending off a great quantity
of fire-works from the plane when he dropped the rocket on the
beach. There was little chance of his plane being detected at this
time of night; he was just another strange traveler in the sky. He
carried enough fire-works to equip a Fourth of July celebration. In my
investigation, I found a dozen or so burned out Roman candles, and
other unused fire-works, which he had secreted under his work-
bench in the hangar.
"His mission achieved, he went into retreat. For weeks we lived in
practical isolation, while the world buzzed with the great Martian
revelations, and honors were heaped upon Mr. Royce. It is not easy
for the mind to grasp how Rene managed to put over this
stupendous hoax, having as its object the humiliation of a bitterly
hated rival, unless one considers that it was the cold-blooded
scheme of a great mind gone wrong. And into that deranged mind
there must have gleamed some light of inspiration. His detailed
description of life as it exists at present on Mars, which he set forth in
the cuneiform code, contained in the scroll, I consider marvelous—
absolutely marvelous. It is logical, and it rings true. No scientist,
ancient or modern, has ever given a more plausible picture of the
history of Mars, and conditions of life there. No scientist in his right
mind would have been so fearless. But Rene—the madman—dared.
"I'm sorry it isn't true. I want it to be true. I want to think there are
people like ourselves living on Mars. We know now that it is
technically possible to bridge the space between us with radio, to
register our music, our ideas, in that planet. And we need the
Martian ideas, and their hopes and illusions, as well, to buoy up our
drooping spirit, just as much as they need ours. Perhaps, after we're
all dead and buried, this revelation from Mars will come. Radio was
given to the world to bring about universal harmony, to bring nations
closer together. Why not interstellar harmony? Oh, it's coming! Who
knows?
"And now, my friends, since I've given you every detail I can think of,
what have you to say?"
There was deep silence for a few moments, and then I spoke. "Your
findings and deductions, Mrs. LaRauche, are all very wonderful, and
very convincing," I said; "but there is still one very important matter
to be cleared up. It may be that your memory is at fault."
"Something important that I've overlooked?" Mrs. LaRauche asked,
thoughtfully.
"Quite so," I replied. "We have awaited breathlessly for your theory
regarding the passenger in the rocket—the man-ape."