***
Rocking on his heels, he waited a few minutes then knocked again.
This time, he didn't wait, just called out as loud as he could. "Rowe, I know you're in there! Come on, we need to talk."
A curtain twitched but the door didn't open.
"I saw that. Come on, it's me. You didn't spend five minutes with me last month, I can't be back too soon. And this is serious."
Something skittered in his line of vision, and Finn glanced to the left, seeing a large orange tabby cat darting into the woods. He laughed a bit at his own jumpiness. "Are you taking in pets now, Rowe?" Deliberately, knowing that Rowe would find it annoying, Finn kept talking. "Siggy got a cat too. A big black monstrosity that just moved into his truck one day when he was on a job site. The guy he was working for said he'd never seen it before, so Sig named it Hershey and it lives in his truck of all places."
He grabbed a broom and began sweeping snow off the two Adirondack chairs on the front porch. "I told he him was nuts, but he said it gets lonely working out of your car, and you know Siggy. Well, maybe you don't, but I swear you'd like him."
"I do."
Finn sighed and sank into one of the cleared chairs. "You've got that silent movement thing down like a ninja."
Six foot of mussed up nerdy, hazel-eyed, glasses-wearing conspiracy theorist sat in the chair next to him. "What's serious?"
"Did you go over to the new guy's place?"
Rowe stiffened and chewed his lower lip. "What if I did?"
"Why?" He waited, rubbing his gloved hands over the stitches in the hem of his pea coat.
Rowe stared at him. "His car is too loud and he yells too much."
"He's scared." When he said the words, he knew they were true. "When he saw your prints, he was so scared, he drove his car into a snow drift by my place."
"I think he's one of them."
Wryly ignoring the blatant accusation—after all Rowe had never explained exactly who the mysterious and all encompassing "they" were, in all these years—he explained who Cannon was. "He's a neurosurgeon on sabbatical to work at the university for six months, Rowe. He's all right. But you have to stay away from there or he'll call the cops."
"I didn't hurt him."
Sighing, Finn pushed himself upright and stared down at the awkward, closed in man he'd struggled to befriend. "He hurt himself, but it was kind of your fault, you know? I just wanted to let you know. Also, I have a dozen new books for you, but I didn’t bring them with me today because I didn't know I was coming."
Rowe darted from the chair to the doorway, and hovered near the door, his eyes focused on Finn intently. "You're leaving? I didn't say you had to go."
Puzzled, Finn frowned for a moment. Then he realized he'd broken their pattern, usually he waited and talked until Rowe threw him out. "Sorry, my friend, my baby brother is expecting me to be at home to make him pancakes any moment, and after that I have to tell Cannon that you didn’t mean to scare him. You're welcome to join me?" He threw out the invitation, knowing it would be refused, as all others had been in the past.
"Tell him to watch out for the lights from the west."
"You got it."
Finn waved, but the door was already shut. He followed the footprints back to the road and headed for his place. Siggy would already be there by now, hopefully with a fresh pot of coffee.
Maybe one day he'd just stop asking and go ahead and bring Siggy over. Rowe already admitted to liking Sig, probably based on all the stories Finn had told him over the years, so…perhaps better to ask forgiveness than permission in this instance?
His phone vibrated, and he answered it without checking. "Lorensson."
"You had him help dig you out of a snow drift? Are you crazy, thoughtless, or just criminally selfish?"
"Rob?"
"Yeah. I thought you understood, Lorensson, that Scott's been through a hell of a lot in the last few months. His recovery is far from complete, and he should not be overexerting himself!"
"He was limping a little, but…"
"But nothing! The doctor has not authorized a clean bill of health, and since he spent all that time working outside it's even worse. I've a good mind to go over there and kick your ass."
Pausing on his doorstep, Finn noted Siggy's truck in the drive next to his own Volvo. "Please don't. I'm sorry. When the car hit the drift and I saw the blood on Cannon's face, I called the lodge. I spoke to the first person who answered."
"It didn't occur to you to ask for me?"
"To be honest, no. I just needed to get Cannon to the emergency room as quickly as possible."
"I’m going to give you my personal cell number. In the future, call me, not the main office."
"I…" Angry voices in the background cut Finn off, and he waited patiently on his own doorstep for just a moment. When it became clear that neither Rob, nor Scott, who seemed to take exception to his friend's intervention, remembered his presence, he disconnected the call and entered the house.
"Siggy?" The rich aroma of fresh brewed coffee greeted Finn, and he began the ritual of removing his cold weather gear and hanging it on its selection of pegs by the door. "Make me a cup, would you?"
"Already done, bro." The rumble of bass that was his brother's voice came from the kitchen nook.
Finn tugged off his boots and padded over in his stocking feet. He accepted a mug of fragrant coffee doctored with vanilla and cinnamon, just the way he liked it. "Thank you." A quick glance around showed that Siggy had not only made coffee, he'd started a batch of the fabulous Swedish pancakes their mother had made for them since they were old enough to eat solid food. "And thank you for that as well."
"You want to take over?" Siggy waved a spatula at him.
"No, you go right ahead." Ingrid Lorensson had raised her boys to be independent, to cook and clean for themselves. Siggy's talents in the kitchen were the equal of Finn's. "Did you find the apples?"
"I got it covered. I have to tell you about the client I met this morning. You aren't going to believe what he wanted me to do."
"I thought you wanted me to tell you the story of my fabulous date Friday night?" Finn stretched out his toes and glanced at the window over the sink. A fat black cat sat on the ledge, nose pressed to the glass, eyes glinting at him. "I think Hershey wants in."
Siggy glanced over. "Nah. He wants pickled herring."
"You feed your cat pickled herring?"
Siggy shrugged. "He likes it. You got any?"
"I have some fresh fish. I planned to make up a batch this afternoon after my class. Will he eat that?" He tipped his head doubtfully at the beast on the windowsill.
"Try it. And we can trade stories like we used to when we were kids."