The Other Half (Door Peninsula Passions Book 1)

by Katherine Hastings

  Looking back over my shoulder to where I’d see the cabin if it weren’t for the trees blocking the way, I shook my head. Great. My whole life I’d been able to roam free through these woods and now, just like that, they were no longer safe from the invasion of the outside world. I knew my feelings were irrational since I didn’t own the property, so I didn’t really have a say, but at twenty-eight years old and never having left this town, I’d never seen anyone here before. It felt like mine even if I didn’t have the official deed... even though I wished I owned it. I loved this twenty-acre spread of land butted up against mine. Now there was a stranger on my turf, and I felt my hackles rise at having my territory invaded. It didn’t even matter she was easy on the eyes, more than easy if I admitted it to myself, but I didn’t care how good she looked. She didn’t belong here.

  VRBO. Had to be. I bet whoever owned this property tossed that God-forsaken shack up on the internet and advertised it as a “charming waterfront cabin” and charged an arm and a leg. Then the unsuspecting snake screamer had arrived and... surprise. The thought of her horrified expression realizing what “charming” really meant made me chuckle. From the looks of her, she wouldn’t last an hour in a place without internet and a maid service. If I had to guess, she’d arrived today, and she’d be gone by afternoon. Then I could get back to the peace and quiet these woods always afforded me.

  But then I realized if she’d found the place online others would as well. Soon my little stolen piece of paradise would be booked every week and I’d have people running amok on the property bordering my two acres. From the state of the abandoned cabin, they’d be knocking on my door in no time begging me for help when the electric went out, or the plumbing, or the roof caved in. I didn’t have time to play handyman to a bunch of city folk and I certainly wouldn’t do it for free.

  While I wished for a million dollars to snatch up this land and make it my own, I looked around and listened for the panting that followed me everywhere I went. All I heard was a soft breeze brushing through the leaves above me, so I put my fingers in my mouth and blew. My high-pitched whistle broke the silence, and a moment later I heard the rustle of leaves and something that sounded more like a bull charging than a black lab. But out through the bushes burst my dog, Hank, and he galumphed across the forest floor and slid obediently to my side, panting hard.

  “Did you find anything good out there, buddy?” When I scratched his head, his pink tongue dropped out farther and he closed his eyes. “Any signs of those coyotes?”

  A pack had moved in and was picking off my new fawns. Hank and I had spent the past three days in the woods hunting them down, hoping to scare them off before I lost another one. The resident deer in my woods were more pet than prey, and they lounged around my back yard most afternoons. Even though I hunted each year for meat, none of these deer would ever find themselves in my scope. I went up north to snag my yearly buck and left them meandering about, safe within the confines of my woods. And even though I didn’t own this property, as her presence reminded me today, I hoped this new development wouldn’t impede my hunts and walks through these woods.

  “Come on, Hank.” With a pat on his head we started back to my house. After we walked a few more minutes, we wound down the worn path from our daily hikes and stepped into my yard. My small two-bedroom house on the lake was the only place I’d ever lived. When my parents moved to Arizona three years ago, I’d bought it from them for well under market value with the promise they could stay here anytime they wanted to visit. This property had been in our family for seventy-five years, since before the prices had skyrocketed when Door County became a vacation spot. Inheritance was the only way anyone like us could afford waterfront property in Door County, so I had no intentions of giving it up. Even when the developers offered me a fortune for it, I’d still said no. This was my home and I wouldn’t sell it for any amount of money. I had the lake for fishing out the back door and the woods surrounding me on three sides. It was peaceful here. Private.

  Just how I liked it.

  Hank beat me to the door and wagged his big black tail while he waited for me to open it. When I caught up with him, I pushed the door open and he raced inside to his water bowl. Big laps of his tongue sent water flying everywhere, and I laughed, wondering why he hadn’t figured out how to drink without making such a mess. It was a good thing for that towel I kept under the bowl.

  I walked over to my den and hung my bow up on the rack. One layer at a time I stripped off my ghillie suit and hung it back up in my closet. A quick spritz with de-scenting spray and I closed it behind the doors until the next time I needed to be incognito in the woods. After wiping off my face paint, I went back into the kitchen. Hank trotted up beside me. Those big brown eyes found mine, and I knew that look. He wore it often.

  “It’s not dinner time, Hank. You’re like three hours early, buddy.” But hearing the word dinner had his whole-body wagging, and I cursed myself for saying it. “You can have one bite. One.”

  As if he knew he’d worn me down, he raced over to the bowl and sat down like he’d been taught since I got him as an eight-week-old pup. Unable to resist his well-honed begging routine, I walked over to the cupboard and pulled out a handful of dog food. Drool slipped out of his mouth and onto the floor before I could toss it in the bowl.

  “This will tide you over. You can have your full dinner later.”

  While he gobbled up the bites, I walked over to the over-sized window in my living room overlooking the lake out back. In another hour or two the fish would start biting, and even though I fished for a living on a commercial boat, I’d still spend my evening sitting on my dock casting into the water. Even after spending countless hours a week helping tourists haul in their own catches, I still enjoyed fishing. It was my therapy. But after what I’d been through this spring, there wasn’t enough fishing in the world to ease all the pain.

  A red blinking light flashing on the answering machine caught my attention. Odd since everyone I know would call me on my cell. I’d forgotten we even had a landline, but I never disconnected the damn thing and my Dad must still be paying the phone bill. Probably had it on autopay and never turned it off. Making a note to tell him, I walked over and looked at it, then found the ‘play message’ button and pressed it.

  “Jake, it’s me. You’ve blocked my number, but I remembered this one from high school, so I tried it. I just wanted to talk to you and—”

  The sound of her voice filled me with unchecked rage. I grabbed the answering machine and tossed it against the wall. It shattered in an explosion of plastic parts and the sound sent Hank skidding into the other room.

  “Fuck you, Nikki,” I snarled at it. The remnants of the wreckage on my floor looked similar to how my heart looked after she’d stomped on it. Even though I’d blocked her number on my cell and told her to leave me the hell alone, she’d found one more way to wiggle back into my world. Of course, she would. She was too selfish to give me what I needed... a life without her. This time I meant it, but she still thought I’d forgive her. Again. She thought I’d let this sick cycle we’d been in since I met her in ninth grade continue. But this time I was done with her. All I wanted now was to be alone, and the fact she’d found a way to invade my home had the heat coursing back through my veins.

  “Hank! Come on!” I called, and he peaked out around the corner. Storming to the porch door, I pushed it open and held it until he raced out in front of me. I grabbed my fishing pole and tackle box and headed down to the dock. The only thing that could calm me down now was a few casts into the lake.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Cassandra

  “What do you think, Poppy? Better?”

  She sat on the pink eiderdown comforter I’d stuffed in my trunk before I left. It was my favorite blanket and after seeing the state of the bed in this cabin, I was glad I remembered to pilfer some of my most beloved linens for the trip. Pink satin covered the pillows and matching sheets hid away the mattress that had bee
n covered in so much dust I nearly choked when I’d cleaned it.

  After spending the entire day scrubbing up my shack, it was starting to look a little less like a hovel and more like something I could tolerate living in. Sure, I wouldn’t be inviting Martha Stewart over anytime soon, but with a lot of cleaning using the supplies I’d found under the sink, and the personal touches I’d brought with me, I felt a little less like screaming every time I looked around. A little.

  Poppy dug on the comforter, spinning in circles while she fluffed it how she liked it. With a grunt she flopped down.

  “I’ll take that as a yes. It’s better.”

  Exhaustion drove me to her side, and I collapsed beside her. The day had been an emotional rollercoaster. I spent as much time sobbing as I did scrubbing and I’d picked up my phone to call Grandpa and beg him to reconsider more times than I wanted to admit. After the discovery of a desiccated mouse on the floor sent me screaming outside to collapse in a leaf pile, I’d wailed about my misfortunes to the birds squawking above me and decided to end my misery.

  This was too much.

  Then I remembered the look in Grandpa’s eyes that day he’d called me into his office and the disappointment he wore so plainly on his face. The memory of him pointing to the picture of my crotch sporting a censored tag confirmed I needed to do this. I needed to earn his respect, and if it meant roughing it in this dilapidated shack in the woods for a couple months, then I would make the best of it. With more unchecked screams, I’d used an old newspaper to pick up the mouse and tossed it out into the grass in the direction that stranger had tossed the snake.

  A flash of the man’s terrifying appearance filled my mind again, and I worried he was out sitting in my bushes in his strange suit watching my numerous meltdowns. Plotting. Planning. But then I remembered the brief glance I’d gotten into those blue eyes, his azure orbs lacking malice. Even though he’d been dressed like something straight out of a horror movie, his eyes didn’t hold a hint of venom. Unlike the snake he’d tossed as if it were nothing. In fact, they were some of the prettiest eyes I’d ever seen.

  While I lay next to Poppy, I thought I’d never be able to fall asleep in this creepy cabin, but my aching body begged for sleep. It turned out cleaning was much harder work than I’d expected. Everything hurt, and I was too tired to get undressed, so I rolled under the covers and pulled them up tight. It was so dark out here without the lights of the city I couldn’t convince myself to turn off my disturbing bedside lamp shaped like a creepy owl. My belly grumbled its displeasure that I hadn’t eaten all day, and it accentuated the absence of my cook. Normally, if I was in bed feeling hungry, a quick lift of my bedside phone produced anything I wanted delivered to my bedroom in under an hour. But there was no cook to whip me up poached eggs, and no housekeeper to keep the fridge stocked. Now that my cabin was clean enough, and I could sleep without suffocating on the dust, going to the grocery store tomorrow would be the next step in my new self-sufficient life.

  Trying harder this time to listen to my GPS, I steered my big brown boat of a car through Baileys Harbor. The loud engine drew the eyes of the people strolling down the streets and heat flushed my cheeks while I slunk a little lower in the seat.

  “This is so embarrassing, Poppy. Everyone is staring at my hideous car! If I saw anyone I know, I would die... DIE of embarrassment!”

  Ignoring my mortification, she stood on her back legs stretching as tall as she could to see out the window. The GPS told me the nearest grocery store was fifteen minutes away in Sister Bay. It shocked me I’d have to drive that far just for groceries. In New York there was a grocery store on almost every corner. Though I’d never actually gone shopping in one, I’d seen them at least.

  The drive to Sister Bay was as beautiful as the drive through Baileys Harbor. Rolling hills and blue skies stretched out in every direction. I passed a small farm and nearly swerved off the road staring at the cows grazing in the pasture. Between my drive up yesterday and my travels today, I’d seen more trees here than I had in my whole life combined. While I continued taking in the breathtaking scenery, once I reached Sister Bay the little voice on my phone chirped and told me to turn onto the little winding road leading to the only grocery store in this part of the county. The Piggly Wiggly. What the hell kind of a store is called the Piggly Wiggly? I wondered while I steered my car into the parking lot.

  Opening my purse, I looked inside at the one-hundred-dollar bill that remained unspent. It was the only money I had until I found a job. Luckily my car had been filled with gas when I picked it up at the airport and I still had a quarter tank left. But not knowing how long it would take to find a job, I knew I needed to make this money count. Twenty-five dollars should get me plenty of groceries, and I’d save the rest for gas to get around town and hunt down jobs.

  I opened Poppy’s pink Prada carrier, and she hopped inside and got situated. Pulling her and my purse out of the car I walked across the parking lot and paused at the entrance to the Piggly Wiggly. Shopping carts were stacked to my left, and the big sliding glass doors looked more intimidating than I expected. What would it be like in there? Realizing how pathetic it was I’d never been in a grocery store at the age of twenty-eight, I grabbed a shopping cart and pushed it inside.

  “We’ve got this, Poppy.”

  Rows of fruit and vegetables glowed under the bright lights. I started in the produce section since my normal morning breakfast consisted of an array of fruits. Since I didn’t eat gluten, carbs, or sugar, and I didn’t have a cook, I figured fruits and vegetables would be a large source of my diet until I could learn how to use the stove. That was if it even worked.

  “Blueberries. Perfect,” I said while I reached forward to grab a small plastic container. “$5.99?” I shrieked to myself and dropped them like they were made of lava. That was a quarter of my twenty-five-dollar grocery budget. When the hell did fruit get so expensive? With a groan I started down the fruits and vegetable aisle searching for the lowest prices. Is this how other people have to shop? I wondered while I continued with an inward groan each time I saw something I wanted but it was out of my price range. When I finished in the produce section, I had a head of iceberg lettuce, celery, and one banana.

  Moving my cart through the aisles, sticker shock met me at every turn. Did Grandpa not realize how much food cost when he handed me one hundred dollars to live off? No, he knew, I realized and took a deep breath. This was part of my challenge. I just needed enough to get by for a few days while I found a job. When I found all the items I could afford were filled with sugar and carbs, I nearly dropped to the floor in another sobbing fit. One week of living on a budget and I’d be putting on twenty pounds. I needed a job. Now.

  After finding a dismal assortment of acceptable foods in my budget, I pushed the cart Poppy sat in toward the checkout lady. Feeling grateful I’d brought Poppy’s food after seeing the dog food selections available, I noted that Grandpa would have to make an exception and ship in her specialty food to me. It was one thing for me to suffer with nothing good to eat, but Poppy shouldn’t have to pay for my terrible choices. Mimicking the woman in front of me, I put my banana, lettuce, celery, cans of tuna, peanut butter, and mustard up on the little black conveyor thing.

  “How are you doing today?” she asked with more enthusiasm and cheer than any store clerk I’d ever seen in New York.

  “Fine, thank you.”

  “Good! Another beautiful summer day, eh?”

  “It is,” I answered, still taken aback by this friendly stranger.

  “That will be $22.46.”

  Pleased I’d stayed under budget the first time in my life I had a budget, I handed her my one hundred-dollar bill. When she passed back the change, I felt a swell of panic surge inside me. Staring at the meager money in my trembling hand, my stomach flipped over. These bills and this change represented survival. Swallowing hard, I looked up at her.

  “Do you know anywhere hiring?”

  With a snor
t, she nodded. “Everywhere is hiring. It’s tourist season. We have more jobs than employees!”

  Letting out an external sigh I shoved the money back in my purse. “Do you know where I can look?”

  She pointed toward the door. “There’s a corkboard over there with jobs. Take a look. Have a wonderful day!”

  “Thank you,” I answered, then pushed my cart over to the board nailed to the wall. Dozens of flyers with the words “Hiring” were stuck on with thumb tacks. I perused over them all. Server Wanted, Hostess Wanted, Busser Wanted... the jobs seemed endless. And then I realized that even with my Columbia MBA, I had absolutely no freaking experience for any of them. Panic crept up inside me while my eyes flipped through them, discounting each one because I hadn’t even the faintest idea how to do the job. Then I saw that big blue cartoon bull caricature at the top of the bottom flyer on the right. I knew that bull. It was the same one on that western-looking building I passed near my house in Baileys Harbor.

  Bartender Wanted at the Blue Ox. Great money. Great people. No experience necessary. Will train.

  No experience necessary! That was me! And even though I had no experience as a bartender, I had a lot of experience at bars. I drank at them, danced on them, and had ordered countless drinks at them. As embarrassed as I was to admit it, my limited skillset made the job as a bartender the most logical choice. And it was close to home. Considering my gas was dwindling down, the job’s proximity to my cabin would help with this newfound need to budget my money.

  I scooped Poppy and my grocery bag out of the cart and pushed it back into the return rack. With a skip in my step I returned to my car and fired it up before chugging back to Baileys Harbor to the Blue Ox to apply for a job.

  After sitting in my car parked out front for a few moments, I tried to muster up the courage to walk inside. How does one apply for a job? Should I have a resume or something? Just walk inside? This lack of confidence that plagued me every second of my new life here unsettled me. Normally, I was confident and brave. But everything here was new and with no one to guide me I felt lost and overwhelmed. The truth of my grandpa’s words settled over me again. I really did have zero life skills. With one look into my purse at the only crumpled up bills I had to avoid starvation, I decided to march inside and ask about a job.