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"May I
help you?" her curt voice asked.
What the
hell caused her voice to lose warmth? Polite still, but just barely.
He trailed his gaze over the smooth brown skin of her face. An urge
he'd not felt in a very long time skated up his spine, catching him
unawares. Desire. Lust.
"I'm
here to speak to LJ."
Okay,
there was no disguising the icy coating in her gaze this time.
"You're from Midas Development." Disgust and venom coated her words
and even though it was summer, he swore the temperature fell a few
degrees.
"Brett
Kingston."
He
didn't offer a charming smile. He hadn't come to flirt, he wanted
the signed documents and wanted out of there as quick as possible.
"I
didn't ask for your name. You're wasting your time. There will be no
deal with Midas Development. So take your overpriced baggage and
clothes and get back to the dock, Rolo's leaving." She stepped back
and slammed the door in his face.
What the
hell?
He turned and peered down by the dock. Rolo waved and Brett shook
his head. The wind that tore through whisked away whatever the man
hollered.
He faced
the door again and knocked. Moments later, the door opened. Damn it
all, that hitch and spine tingling thing happened again.
She
looked at him briefly. "You didn't leave."
"I won't
be going anywhere until I speak to Mr. LJ."
"He's
not available and--"
"Until I
speak with him, I'm not leaving." He spoke with steely
determination.
"Too
late now anyways. I hope you have a tent in those fancy bags of
yours."
Tent?
Why would I need a tent?
"Look,
why don't you just tell me where he is, so I can find a place to
stay."
She
crossed her arms and stared at him, still no warmth in her gaze.
"You want a place to stay? Shoulda left with Rolo. Storm's coming."
Of
course it was. He just wanted some sleep.
"There's
an old cabin down that way." She gave a jerk with her head.
"And LJ
is?"
"At
neither place. Just thought you might want out of the rain that's
comin'."
"When
will he be back with the boat?"
"He
usually comes once a week."
Rain
began to fall and he looked at her. Immoveable. This woman didn't
care what weather he was out in. Grinding his teeth together, he
turned and headed to the cabin she'd mentioned. Surely, it would be
better than standing on her porch.
He
sloshed and slid as he did his best to keep his computer bag dry.
Finally, he made out the edge of a small cabin. It was dark. Anger
grew the closer he got. Damn her! This place was falling
apart.
The
front porch was rippled and broken; busted windows, and two roof
beams had fallen as well. Cautiously he pushed in. He shivered; the
rain-soaked clothes he wore not comfortable. Being wet and muddy
didn't improve his mood.
"Hello?"
he called out despite his confidence no one was here. At least he
was out of the rain. Drip. Water hit his head.
You have
got to be shittin' me.
He moved further in. Not very big, there were only two rooms. A
bedroom, where the beams had collapsed and the steady rain fell
unhindered and the one he stood in.
"Just
fucking great."
Darkness
surrounded him and the storm's intensity seemed to increase. He
withdrew his lighter--he personally didn’t smoke anymore but carried
it out of habit--and found what he was looking for. An old partial
wooden couch frame stood in one section and he opted to sit
cautiously on an armless rocker, after changing into a dry shirt.
For a fleeting moment, he thought about trekking back to her place
but swiftly dissuade himself of that notion. He was better off here
most likely. And where was here?
Cold and
wet, sitting in a dilapidated cabin. Why? Because he'd been
manipulated by the old bastard. Right now, he was too worried to do
anything about it and succumbed to the mental and physical
exhaustion of his body.
A
mist-drizzle still fell when he awoke. Muscles stiff from sleeping
how he had, Brett pushed gingerly to his feet. His stomach growled
as he stepped onto the porch. His mood was anything but good; yet he
paused and looked around. The beauty of this place amazed him. And
he took another look.
He
headed off; looking for another cabin, or the lighthouse, maybe
whoever was there would help him. Obviously, that woman had
no plans to. He came to an incline and began climbing up, slipping
in the thick mud. Cursing her every step he added in a few for his
poor footwear.
He
pitched forward to stop sliding, glanced up, and froze. There,
standing atop the ridge was a…oh shit…a wolf. A damn wolf!
It
stared at him and he scrambled back, falling into a heap at the
muddy bottom. Wary he glanced up again. Nothing. He pushed slowly to
his feet. I hate it here. He stood caked with mud, wet,
hungry, and in some God-forsaken place. Then fell again.
Really, really hate it here. |
