The Stranger in the Woods

by Kiersten Modglin

  She climbed from bed, stepping out into the hall and quickly shutting the door behind her. What was he doing up so late? She walked up the small set of stairs that led from her bedroom to the hallway and looked around. The light to her office was on, and she turned the handle, sticking her head in.

  Brett had helped her set up the office, once just a small room with a worn, brown recliner and a pressed wood desk they’d bought in a box. Her work chair had been so uncomfortable she’d had to switch from it and the desktop to the recliner and her ancient laptop and back again just to get comfortable. Now, the room was supposed to be her sanctuary. At least, it was set up like one. A white, faux fur rug lay in the center of the room, a large wooden desk on the far side. Her luxury leather writing chair sat behind it, gold trim lining both the chair and the desk. In the other corner, an oversized white recliner and gorgeous end table sat, and further down was a gray and white couch. It was the largest bedroom in the house, and Arlie had made great use of the space. Overall, it was a writer’s dream, and exactly what Arlie thought she needed to get back in the groove of things. After all, what else did she need to spend the money on? Brett’s life insurance had paid off most of their debt, and her measly existence didn’t accumulate the large bills she’d once pictured rolling in from a lavish lifestyle. But, the office hadn’t worked. In fact, most of her words were written in her bed, the bed that had been shared with Brett. Many times she’d wondered if he had been her muse. If the words would only flow around him and, with him gone, she was doomed to never pump out another story.

  But now, another man sat in her office. Mason, wearing Brett’s plaid pajama pants and a white t-shirt, spun around in her chair, nearly jumping at the sight of her.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, dropping the paperback in his hands. It was a copy of her debut novel, Say Goodbye. “Did I wake you?”

  “No,” she said, crossing her arms and staring him down. “What are you doing in here?”

  “I didn’t mean to…intrude. I…I wanted to read one of your books. See what makes the famous Arlie Montgomery so famous.” He smiled nervously, standing from the chair. “I should’ve asked first. I’m really sorry, Arlie. It was rude of me to just assume I could come into your space.”

  “It’s fine,” she said, though she wasn’t entirely sure that was true. “It’s not really my space, anyway. It should’ve been,” she said, “but when the entire house is silent, you don’t really need a place to escape to.”

  He swallowed, picking up the book from the desk and closing it. He tapped the cover with his forefinger. “This is…it’s really good. You’re an excellent writer.”

  “Do you read thrillers?” she asked, though she slapped a hand to her forehead quickly. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” he said with a nervous laugh. “I don’t know if I used to, but I’m certainly interested in them now.”

  She sank into the couch, waving a hand to get him to sit, too. “What part are you at?”

  He opened the book back up, flipping through a few pages until he found his place. “Here. Roarke has just found the body. Corkscrew to the neck, huh? That’s a nice touch.”

  She laughed. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for a good murder scene.”

  “I can tell. And this detective…is she supposed to be you?”

  “Me? Of course not.”

  “She reminds me of you,” he said simply. “The way I picture her.”

  “And how is that?” she asked, leaning forward and hanging on his every word. Discussing her books never got old.

  “She’s…brunette, of course, like you. Smart…distrusting…”

  “You think I’m distrusting?”

  “Aren’t you?” he asked.

  “I don’t think so. I mean, you’re here, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah,” he said, “but I don’t know if that’s because you trust me or because you’re trying to use me for research.”

  She cocked her head to the side slowly, not entirely sure either. “Does anyone really trust anyone these days?”

  “Good point. Maybe trusting the wrong person is what got me here.” He pointed to his head.

  “Maybe. Trouble is deciding who’s deserving of your trust and who’s going to screw you over.”

  “I’m not going to screw you over, Arlie,” he said, his voice low. He wheeled the chair around from behind the desk, leaning closer to her.

  “I hope not.”

  “I could never,” he said. “I’m…I want to be everything you want. I want to be Mason for you. I think you deserve a Mason.” His blue eyes burned into hers, causing her to look away suddenly. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “Was that too much?”

  She shook her head. “No, it’s just…sometimes it’s easy to forget this isn’t real.”

  He placed his hand on her cheek, turning her face to look at him. “Who says it’s not real?”

  She stared at him, their faces only inches apart. He wasn’t moving his hand, and it was causing her dangerous thoughts to surface. “Eventually,” she said, speaking slowly, “you’re going to remember who you were. And then you’re going to leave me to go back to your old life.”

  “What if I don’t want that to happen? What if my old life was nothing special?”

  “Life with me wouldn’t be anything special.”

  Without warning, his lips were on hers, his hands cupping her face. It took her a moment to process what was happening, her body frozen in place. His fingers laced through her hair, pulling her further into his kiss, and she seemed to wake up. She thawed quickly, placing her hands on his neck. His kiss was unfamiliar, though that was a surprisingly good thing. The stubble around his chin rubbed her lips, and his mouth fit perfectly on hers. It shocked her how easily she could give in to him, but perhaps it was more about giving in to herself. Giving in to what she’d wanted for so long.

  It had been years since anyone had touched her the way he was touching her now. Years since she felt another person’s warmth. Though she wished, desperately, that it could’ve been Brett holding her this way, she was surprised to find that she wasn’t thinking of him in that moment. All that seemed to matter was Mason. Mason’s hands. Mason’s lips. Mason’s tongue. Mason.

  Just as she began to lose herself in the intoxicating kiss, he stopped, pulling his lips from hers. His heavy breath still hit her mouth, his lips red and mere inches from hers. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “What? Why?” she asked, her eyes flickering up to meet his.

  “Because…you’ve been so kind to me. I should not have assumed that means you want to…to do whatever this is. I don’t want things to get awkward, or to make you feel like I’m overstepping.”

  “Mason, stop. You aren’t overstepping. And if I didn’t want to kiss you, I wouldn’t have.”

  “Oh, really?” he asked, his gaze moving to her mouth at her words.

  “Really,” she promised as his lips met hers again. With that, he set the book down, sliding on top of her so she laid down on the couch. Her back pressed into the stiff, unfamiliar leather, sending shivers down her spine.

  He ran a hand over the side of her face, kissing her playfully. “Well, then, let me thank you properly.”

  She rubbed her nose against his. “Do your damnedest.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  The next morning, Arlie’s eyes fluttered open slowly, and she stared around the room. It took a minute for her to register that she was naked, and in doing so, her cheeks flushed, and she pulled the blanket up to cover her chest.

  She lifted her head from the pillow, staring at the empty place next to her. For the first time in two years, the name that popped into her head first was not Brett’s.

  Mason.

  She sat up further, keeping the blanket over her chest and staring at the messy bed, the indentation where his body had been. He’d been there, right? She hadn’t dreamed last night up? Dreamed him up entirely, maybe. Judging by the soreness of her unused bod
y, she was pretty sure that wasn’t the case.

  Had she really waited two years to have sex again? God, she hadn’t realized how much she needed it. How much she needed last night.

  Then it hit her. Last night. Sex. Sex with a stranger. Sex with a stranger she’d just met. Sex with a stranger she’d just met in a bed she’d bought with Brett. Brett who she loved. Brett whose ring she still wore on the chain around her neck.

  She closed her eyes, resting her face in her palm and sucking in a breath. What on earth was she thinking? She laid back in bed, pondering her thoughts, trying to decide how she felt. Or maybe, how she should feel.

  How much could she really trust this man, anyway? More than anyone, he could hurt her. She’d let him in, in a way she’d refused to let anyone in for so long. She’d given him access to her life and her body. She’d made herself vulnerable.

  She let out a sigh, standing up from the bed and pulling her shorts and robe on over herself. Try as she might, she couldn’t find it in herself to regret what had happened. It had been good after all. Really, really good.

  Mason was…dreamy. And patient. Attentive. He took care of her in a way Brett had slacked off on.

  Oh. She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. Enough with the comparisons. Brett was her husband. Mason was still a stranger.

  Last night didn’t change that. No matter how good he tasted. Or how amazing his tongue felt against her…

  Stop. Memories of the night flooded her mind no matter how hard she tried to push them away, and she realized her fatal mistake. She was falling for him.

  Hard.

  Fast.

  Damn, she was like a teenage boy, bringing every thought back to sex. Good sex. Life-changing sex.

  Get it together, woman.

  She padded down the hallway, wondering where on earth he might be, and stopped when she saw the light on under her office door once again. It was like déjà vu.

  Hey, if they could relive the night again, she certainly wasn’t going to complain—

  For the love of God, woman. Do you need a cold shower or what?

  She grinned, feeling practically giddy with her horny little self. Whatever Mason had done to her, it was the most alive she’d felt in so long.

  She pressed the door open quickly. “Good morning,” she said with a smile, seeing his face. He was behind her desk again. He looked up at her, slamming the laptop closed quickly.

  “What’s up?” she asked, walking around to him.

  He shook his head, pulling her down into a kiss and helping her slide onto his lap. “Sorry, that’s the universal sign for watching porn, isn’t it?”

  She kissed him back. “A little bit, yeah.”

  “I was…just trying to do some research into missing people. You know, who I might be, or whatever.”

  “In a hurry to get back to your old life?” she asked, feeling uneasy. Why was his face so red?

  “Not at all,” he said, resting his forehead on hers. “The exact opposite, actually.”

  “Meaning what?” She cocked her head to the side.

  “Meaning…I’m hoping they don’t ever find my old life. Or, that there’s no life out there for them to find. I don’t ever want to leave you, Arlie. Last night…last night was—”

  “Amazing,” she finished for him.

  “Yeah,” he said, the corners of his mouth turning up into a grin as he slid his hand out to cup her cheek. “Yeah, it really was. And…I guess I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop and this to all be over.”

  She swallowed, not wanting to admit how much the thought terrified her. “I guess we just have to make the most of the time we have together, then.”

  “I don’t know how much time could ever be enough,” he whispered, his lips practically brushing hers.

  “No amount of time is ever enough when you know you have to say goodbye.”

  “I don’t know if I ever can.”

  She closed her eyes. “Me either.” She’d said goodbye once before, and it had damn near killed her.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Later that day, Arlie took Mason to town, despite her complete aversion to doing so this time of year. He insisted on seeing more of the town, hoping to jog a memory or two, and though she’d warned him about the craziness that surrounded downtown at this time of the month, he was certain this was what he wanted.

  As they walked through the quiet town square, the hair on Arlie’s arms stood on end. Something was going to happen. Something bad. She just knew it. They were the only two people crazy enough to be out right now. Granted, it was just past ten a.m. on a Tuesday, but still.

  He took her hand, leading her to the gazebo that sat in the middle of town. At one time not so long ago, it had been kept up, but now it was in desperate need of a paint job and new boards in a few places. She stepped over one particularly loose-looking board and took a seat next to him. “Are you happy now?” she asked. “You’ve seen the big city of Crimson Falls.”

  He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, looking off into the distance. “I think it’s cute.”

  She snorted. Sometimes it was, she supposed. In February when they had their annual Be My Valentine Festival, the townspeople decorated the entire square with heart-shaped balloons and red and pink decor. It was cute then. Christmastime was usually well thought out and adorable. They even hired a Santa to visit with the children. But, October Crimson Falls was not ‘cute.’ Desolate. Gray. Gloomy. Terrifying. Those were words she would use to describe it. But not ‘cute.’ Never ‘cute.’

  “You’re a bad liar,” she said simply. “Any of this bringing back any memories?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. You were right.”

  “I told you I know everyone in Crimson Falls,” she said smugly, running her fingers through the side of his hair.

  “You weren’t kidding. I can’t get over how quiet it is out here,” he said simply. “You were right about that too.”

  “October isn’t safe.”

  “Well, let’s get you home where it is safe,” he said, and she sighed loudly with relief. “Do you mind if we stop in here for a minute, though?” He pointed to the Crooked Crow, a small bar in town owned by the biggest ass Arlie had ever met.

  “Oh, no, not there,” she said, and then realized she probably sounded a bit like a drama queen. “I mean…Perry’s not the most friendly guy you’ll ever meet.”

  “Perry?”

  “The bar owner. Big guy. Tattoos. Total jerk.”

  He snickered.

  “What?”

  “Did you really say ‘jerk’? You’re so cute.”

  She smacked his arm playfully. “Hush.”

  “It’s so funny. Your books are this dark, twisted, terrifying part of you…but on the outside, you’re so…sunshine-y.”

  “Sunshine-y?” She looked down, biting her lip. “Everyone has two sides.”

  Without her realizing it, they were nearing the bar, and Mason stopped at the door. “I’m going to run in here real quick. You can wait outside if you want.”

  “No,” she said, probably too quickly. “I’ll go with you.”

  “I’ll take care of you, Arlie,” he said, his voice sincere as he pulled open the door.

  The small, dark room smelled of vomit and floor cleaner and, if Arlie had wanted to, she could’ve bet her month’s royalties that the men in the bar were the ones she could’ve predicted would be there. The alcoholics who never left, the husbands avoiding their wives, and the old men who just needed somewhere to be around other people.

  “Well, if it isn’t our little celebrity.” Perry sneered from behind the bar, picking something from his teeth as he spoke. “Who’s this?”

  “Mason,” Mason answered quickly, approaching the bar and holding out a hand. Perry stared at him without offering to shake it. “I, um, I’m new in town. A friend of Arlie’s.”

  “So?” Perry barked. “You here to drink, or what?”

  Mason looked at the clock on the wall,
not bothering to mention that it was only ten a.m., but Arlie knew he was thinking it. “Nope. Just wanted to see if you were hiring. I could use a bit of work.”

  Arlie winced, wishing she’d known why he was coming there. She could’ve warned him that Perry wouldn’t hire him. He rarely hired. She was pretty convinced he lived in the bar.

  To her surprise, Perry cocked his head to the side. “You a bartender?”

  “I can open a beer as easily as the next guy,” he said, glancing around, “and from the looks of this place, no one is ordering anything too complicated.”

  Arlie was sure he was going to punch him. Perry didn’t have a sense of humor, he never had, but he shocked her again by letting out a loud laugh.

  “Okay, sure, kid.” He called him ‘kid,’ though Arlie was still convinced Mason must’ve been close to forty. “You can work here. Can you start tonight?”

  “You got it,” Mason said, reaching out to shake his hand again. This time, Perry took it, shaking his hand slowly.

  “Be here by six,” he instructed. With that, Mason turned, walking from the building with Arlie’s fingers laced between his.

  “Why would you want to work there? It’s not exactly safe.”

  “I need money,” he said with a shrug. “I can’t keep letting you pay for everything. And from what I know, bars are usually a place where you can make easy money without having to answer too many questions. As in, the whole ‘not having an ID or social security number’ thing shouldn’t matter to…what did you say his name was?”

  “Perry.”

  “Right. Perry. He didn’t seem too concerned with my background, and since I can’t seem to remember mine, it’s probably a perfect fit.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  That night, Arlie watched Mason walk out the door, his hands in the pockets of Brett’s old jeans. She felt nostalgic, remembering the many times she’d watched Brett walk out the door on his way to work. Was this a betrayal to him? It couldn’t be, could it? She was allowed to move on. Expected to move on. What choice did she have? She was still young, just shy of thirty-seven, and she’d put her husband in the ground almost two years ago. She couldn’t be expected to mourn him forever. Then again, she was pretty sure she would. Though the daily rounds of crying had stopped, and she was functioning more and more like a human, Arlie was not over her husband. She was still very much in love with the man who had loved her first. The man who had loved her best.