Farmed and Dangerous Read Online Free PDF Page A

from the cold.
    The fields and beds of her farm looked like a giant hand had tucked them into pristine white blankets. The fence posts supporting her new grapevine stuck up out of the snow, as did the knobby stalks of the remaining Brussels sprouts plants, which she’d never gotten around to harvesting. A few wizened brown apples still clung to the bare branches of the two antique-variety apple trees that had been there forever. A hawk caught an updraft in a kettle of warm air and spiraled lazily.
    She skied off her land into the woods along a wide path that connected with the back of an adjacent farm. Here no wind stirred the tall firs, and quiet reigned, except for the crunch of skis on snow. She thought about what she’d read on the Internet the night before. She’d awoken feeling uneasy about the caregiver Oscar. It worried her that someone with a temper like his was working with the sometimes fragile elderly. He had blemishes in his past, she’d discovered after searching for his name. From a police log column and a court report entry she’d learned he had been arrested for assault once, but the charges had been dismissed. On the other hand, he seemed to be active in the Eritrean immigrant community. He served on a committee that sponsored English classes for new arrivals and on an advisory board at what had to be his children’s elementary school in Lynn, a somewhat beleaguered city on the coast north of Boston. It was a bit of a drive up here to Westbury, but he probably couldn’t afford to live in this increasingly affluent community. And consequently, maybe Moran paid more than similar places in Lynn.
    She shook off the thought of Oscar’s temper. Surely a business dealing in the care of the old wouldn’t hire someone who would be a danger to them. Would they?
    As she navigated down a gentle slope, an odd shape on a bare branch high above her head caught her eye. She slowed to glance up. An owl perched on the branch. A big owl. She smiled to herself. She’d heard the hoo-hoohoohoo-hoo-OO-hoo of the great horned owl at twilight. She felt privileged to see—
    Cam cried out at a crunching sound. The crust of snow broke through into the icy water of a small stream that wound through the woods. Cam’s right ski caught and twisted sideways. She fell onto her right hip, landing on a stump that stuck up out of the snow. Her other ski jutted off at an odd angle, twisting her left knee into a configuration God hadn’t designed it for. With the new snow, she must have missed the path where it curved over the stream on a wide fallen log.
    She swore. Her right foot and her entire right ski sat in the water. Maneuvering her pole to click the boot out of the binding, she kept missing the right position and leverage. Having extra-long legs didn’t help in this predicament, and neither did the lack of automatic-release bindings on cross-country skis. She aimed the pole at the left binding and succeeded in freeing that boot, which let her straighten her knee. It throbbed, and she hoped she hadn’t seriously damaged it. She poked at the right binding again until it gave way, then grabbed a branch and dragged herself to standing on the slope next to the stream.
    Her cell phone rang in her pocket. Sheesh. Cam bit her right mitten and dragged it off her hand. She glanced at the caller ID. Jake? She connected the call.
    â€œJake? Where are you?”
    â€œAt home in Uppsala. I miss you.”
    Cam squeezed her eyes shut for a second. She reopened them. “I hope you’re well. But I can’t talk right now.”
    â€œI suppose you’re busy with your cop.” His voice sounded sad even from thousands of miles away.
    â€œNo, I’m actually out skiing in the woods. By myself. But I just fell into a stream. And my foot is cold, so I have to go. I’ll call you another time.”
    â€œTake care, Cam. Go get warm.” He disconnected.
    Cam sighed. She