Free In the Mood for Love by Beth Ciotta Page B

three-story shops. The numerous trees populating the manicured parks and lawns and the green mountains that served as a verdant backdrop helped to create an old-fashioned scene reminiscent of a folk art painting. While the vision as a whole was serene, Harper’s pulse skittered with dread.
    Though the local population was small, Sugar Creek attracted hordes of tourists. Mostly they took advantage of the outdoor recreation—biking, hiking, skiing, snowmobiling—depending on the season. But in between they explored the delightful shops and restaurants. They relaxed in the town square. Stocked up on groceries at Oslow’s General Store. Bought necessities at J. T. Monroe’s Department Store. Took advantage of the wireless Internet in Moose-a-lotta—just one of the draws of Chloe and Daisy’s kitschy café. They dined and socialized at the Sugar Shack, a popular pub owned by Rae’s husband, Luke.
    The more Harper thought about the crowds and strangers, people who could have a gripe, or a death wish, or a mental problem … People who could act out in any way at any time, the greater her anxiety. She envisioned having a full-blown panic attack as Sam escorted her into a restaurant. The possibility served a brutal blow to her pride. She’d been so sure she had a grip on her phobia.
    “Turn around,” she said, adding, “Please,” and cursing her strangled tone.
    Sam cast her a glance. Not one of his stern glares, but a look of concern. It messed with her stubborn determination to fight her own battles. An unsettling first.
    “I have a problem with crowds,” she admitted. “With public places.”
    “Since when?”
    “Since last month. There was an incident. That’s what’s twisting me up. That’s what got me fired. Or at least contributed to my dismissal. It triggered this insane fear of random violence and mass killings.”
    “Is that why you’ve been glued to CNN? Are you looking for a pattern? Trying to find reason in senseless attacks?”
    Harper crossed her arms so as not to stroke her bracelet. Her insides churned and her head thrummed. This subject was dangerously close to Andrew’s tragic meltdown. She didn’t want to go there. Hard enough dealing with the incident in L.A.
    “We need to talk about this, Harper. I can’t subject Ben and Mina to whatever crisis you’re going through if I don’t know the details.”
    She got that. And, seriously, part of her wanted to confide in Sam. She’d tried everything to get a grip on her intensifying agoraphobia short of weekly visits to a shrink. Spewing her guts to a professional psychiatrist was akin to undergoing brain surgery sans anesthesia. Thank you, but no. That said, she was desperate to regain control of her life.
    “I won’t think you’re crazy,” Sam said, speaking to her earlier concern.
    Harper studied Sam as he slowed his truck at the last intersection before town. Her breathing eased as she soaked in his calm and grounded strength. She couldn’t talk about Andrew, but she could talk about the spa shooting.
    “Pull over, Rambo. Someplace private. And give me back my phone.”

EIGHT
    Grenville’s Overlook.
    Sam made a U-turn, backtracked a mile, turned left then crossed the historic covered bridge to get to the other side of Sugar Creek—the river, not the town. He parked his truck near a copse of trees at the slope’s edge, affording them a prime view upriver. The water sparkled and rippled, a gentle current conducive to canoeing, kayaking, and inner-tubing. As a boy Sam used to cannonball off the covered bridge with his cousins. He doubted Ben would be so adventurous. Mina was another story. Sam dreaded that day. For now his kids were happy with an occasional rafting expedition.
    “Let me guess,” Harper said as he keyed off the ignition. “You used to bring girlfriends here to make out.”
    Sam’s lip twitched. “That was a long time ago.”
    “Your wife?”
    “Paula was fond of moonlit picnics.”
    “That doesn’t sound