by Diane Darcy
A creaking sound accompanied a wrenching, jarring movement, and the chair broke apart, throwing Honey to the floor where she banged her hip. Horror and disbelief rushed through her as, flat on her back, she stared up at the log beam in the ceiling. She couldn’t believe what had just happened.
Panting a little, she struggled out of the mess and stood. Both hands flew to her mouth and her face burned as she frantically eyed the mess. “This is unbelievable. How could this happen?”
The log and cushion chair lay broken into pieces, a few clamps gripping wood in strategic places, and one wood clamp on the floor amid the mess.
Someone had been fixing the chair.
The throw-quilt over the back had hidden the clamps and she must have pulled one loose when she’d tugged on the blanket and her weight had done the rest.
“This is so awful,” she whispered.
Reaching down, she pulled at one piece of wood and it came completely free of the others. She closed her eyes for a moment, then glanced around. “What do I do?”
She felt like grabbing her stuff, running out, and leaving forever. She actually stared at the door for a long moment before remembering the glue on the mantle.
Maybe she could fix the chair? Re-glue and re-clamp it? Maybe the Baron family wouldn’t be home for a while longer?
She thought about calling Nick for advice, but quickly threw out the notion. Her boss had sent her to charm them, not to destroy their property.
Her dad? He didn’t know a lot about fix-it stuff, but probably more than she did. Or Christian might be able to help, but again, she knew he wouldn’t answer the phone. She blew out a breath and looked at the mess. This didn’t look like something that could be explained over the phone, anyway.
So what should she do? Leave it and try and explain the cringe-worthy mess to her hosts?
She shook her head once more. She had glue, she had clamps, she had to at least try.
* * *
Forty minutes later, she was done. The chair was upside down, but back together, and she didn’t dare try to turn it over again. She wasn’t out to hide what she’d done, anyway. She’d glued and clamped the three pieces, and it looked okay. She was going to bed. Explanations could wait until morning.
She stood, and from the higher perspective, the chair looked kind of...off.
Tears filled her eyes. She’d just pay for the darn thing. She’d buy them a new one. Even if it was custom-made and ended up costing her two weeks’ wages.
Feeling tired, cranky and frustrated, Honey grabbed her suitcase, and went upstairs to look for a bed. There were four doors, and the first opened into a bedroom overlooking the front yard. She flipped on the light and peeked inside.
A queen-sized bed, a nightstand with a picture of a group of kids, an alarm clock, and a book. A rocking chair sat in the corner. There were no personal effects, but the gorgeous cream-colored quilt on the bed was obviously handmade and sported ducks, coyotes and pine trees. It definitely looked like a guest room.
She walked in, dropped her purse and suitcase, sat on the bed and bounced on the mattress. There wasn’t much give. In fact, it was hard.
She sighed. This night just kept getting better and better. She turned her head to the open closet door, and shot back off the bed. Clothes hung in the closet, and boots and shoes neatly lined the floor. She quickly gathered her things and left the room.
The second door led to a big bathroom with a tile floor, a vanity with matching basins and silver-framed mirrors, and both a shower and a jetted tub. Nice. Very nice. She could picture herself taking a bubble bath, but not tonight. Not when her hosts could come home at any moment.
Going to the third door, she went inside, flipped on the light and looked around. A huge, foam cushion chair dominated the floor. Playstation paddles led back to a box on top of a television, and a shelf with DVDs was attached to the wall. It was conceivable that it could be a guest room. Children would certainly enjoy sleeping on the giant, oversized cushion.
Going inside the room, she set her things down and gingerly sank down on the foam-filled suede. It was very soft. She lay back and wiggled. Perhaps it was too soft. She really couldn’t see herself sleeping there the entire night. There was no blanket and she felt as though she might sink right inside and suffocate. Getting up, she hoped for better luck with the last door.
Pushing it open, she went inside and breathed a sigh of relief. A king-sized bed dominated the room and a few hunting trophies graced the top of the dresser, but no family pictures or anything like that. A gray quilt spread over the bed. Nice, but spartan. Out of the three, this had to be the guest room.
Dropping her purse and bag, she sat on the bed. The mattress was much nicer. Kicking off her shoes, she sank full length on the bed, pressed her face into one of the pillows and sighed. It was better than nice. Not too hard, not too soft, it was just right.
Rolling off the bed, she retrieved pajamas and toiletries and headed for the bathroom. At this point, she didn’t even have a desire to meet up with the owners until morning. If she’d blown the deal when she’d broken the furniture, tomorrow would be soon enough to find out about it.
She brushed her teeth, pulled her thick hair back into a ponytail, washed off her makeup, and accidentally drenched the front of her hair in the process. She dried her face with a towel, and quickly patted her hair but it was too late. It started to curl. The tiniest hint of moisture and she frizzed out. It had taken her forever to straighten it that morning. Tears pricked her eyes again. Frizzy hair was the final straw.
Wasn’t it enough that she’d worked a full day, had a fight with Christian, driven three hours, and then all the problems she’d encountered here at the client’s house? Not to mention she was starting her brokerage class in the morning, and was completely stressed out about that? And now curls?
She needed to get hold of herself. She knew that. She dried her eyes, blew her nose, gathered up her things, went back to the guest room, and shut the door. She put her stuff down and climbed into the bed.
She’d unpack in the morning after she had an inkling about how long she’d be staying before moving to a hotel. Right now all she wanted to do was to escape into dreamland.
* * *
Trevor Baron turned onto his driveway. It was almost midnight and all he wanted to do was eat the turkey dinner his mom had promised to leave, and then fall into bed.
Another day or two and he’d be finished with the backbreaking schedule he was on.
There was a car parked on one side of the driveway, in his spot. It took him a moment to realize the vehicle must be his sister’s new car. He’d heard her jerk-off husband had bought one as a bribery gift. Since Elizabeth was at Trevor’s house, he’d guess it hadn’t worked. No surprise there. His sister wasn’t the kind of woman to forgive infidelity, or to forget.
He went for the mail and on the way back to the house, reached into the bed of his truck, grabbed three fishing poles--minus hooks--and propped them by the side of the cabin.
He knew the three boys he’d taken them from would eventually work up the courage to steal them back, and knew the lack of hooks, and the fact that the boys had been caught fishing illegally, wouldn’t stop them from doing it again. It hadn’t stopped him at that age, either.
Smiling, he continued to the back gate, opened it, and let himself in. “Hey, Charlie boy. Come here.”
A dark form moved toward Trevor and a big head bumped against his hand.
“You eat all that food I left out?”
Trevor checked the dog dishes, one empty and one still half-full of water. “Good boy.”
Trevor went down on one knee and rubbed the dog’s thick fur coat while Charlie, ecstatic, wiggled like a puppy. With one last pat, Trevor opened the back door–-no need to lock it with Charlie in the back yard-–and they both went inside.
Charlie immediately bounded up the stairs, probably looking for Elizabeth, and Trevor headed for his office.
He was ti
red. He’d worked the entire day, putting in a full eight hours, most of it rounding up a deer wandering the city and returning it to the forest. He’d then talked to reporters about the incident.
After some routine paperwork, he’d taken time to catch the kids doing their spot of illegal fishing, then back to work for the rest of the evening repairing some commercial property for the family company.
All the painting he’d done had made his back sore. But only a few more nights and the building would be ready to lease again and he could relax.
Opening his safe, he locked his gun away, set his belt on the desk and went back to the kitchen to get his dinner.
He opened the fridge.
No dinner.
Had his mom forgotten him? A note on the countertop caught his eye and he kicked the fridge shut and snagged it. I’ve left a plate of food for you in the fridge. Love, M.
He checked again. The milk, ketchup, mustard and mayonnaise weren’t hiding a plate of food. He checked the freezer. Nothing.
Thinking about Elizabeth’s car in the driveway, he opened the cupboard under the sink and pulled out the garbage. Sure enough. A used sheath of tin foil lay on top and had very likely covered his plate of food.
Well, that was nice.
He rubbed a hand over his full beard, blew out a breath, then got out fixings for peanut butter and honey sandwiches. He slathered four slices of bread, and poured himself a large glass of milk.
He took his plate and glass out to the living room, set them on an end table, grabbed the remote control, sat and turned on ESPN.
It was on the wrong channel and--
His chair! Jumping up, he quickly scanned the poorly repaired chair, then glared at the stairs and considered waking Elizabeth to have a talk. But she had at least tried to fix it and that surprised him, so, disgusted, he changed the channel to ESPN, quickly ate, and, with Charlie now back and watching his every move, spent the next thirty minutes re-glueing the chair correctly, and placing the clamps where they’d actually do their job.
He finally turned the chair around carefully set it in the corner so Elizabeth wouldn’t forget and sit in it again.
It was time for bed. In the morning, he was going to have a talk with his sister because this was getting out of hand. She needed to work out her marriage problems on her own time. Or at least in her own house. Or at their parents’ place if she had to go somewhere.
With Charlie following, Trevor climbed the stairs, walked down the hall, opened the door, and absolutely couldn’t believe it.
She was in his bed!
Talk about selfish!
He wouldn’t lose his temper. They could discuss this like the two grown adults they were. How much could a man be expected to take from his big sister? She could stay in his house, she could even eat his food and break his furniture. But danged if she was sleeping in his bed! She could take the spare room. There was a reason that mattress was uncomfortable. He didn’t like guests!
He flipped on the light and his sister sat up, looked to where he stood in the doorway, and sucked in a loud breath.
The only problem was, it wasn’t his sister.
If you’d like to read more, go to www.DianeDarcy.com
Excerpt from Old Money by Heather Horrocks
Time travel doesn’t really happen. Does it? Jennie’s beginning to wonder when she and her ex-fiancé seem to be pulled into an Old West painting--right in the middle of a guns-blazing bank robbery. She doesn’t know how it happened to begin with, or how they’ll get back, neither Jesse James nor the marshal seem inclined to give them a chance to find out, and, worst of all, Jennie’s falling for the one man she swore she’d never trust again.
Chapter One
Friday, June 4th
Not Abilene. This couldn’t be happening. Please tell me I am anywhere but Abilene.
Exhausted and incredulous, Jennie Ryan stepped from the plane which should have carried her from medical school in Boston back home to Idaho for a two week vacation before her internship began. Instead, a freak storm had forced the plane down here. Of all places in the country. Abilene, Kansas.
It’s all right, she tried to reassure herself. She didn’t have to see Bryce. Abilene was a big town. This was not fate or anything like it--just a random forced landing. And she wouldn’t give it any more meaning than that.
It didn’t matter that Bryce was getting married tomorrow, a fact she knew only because some busybody friends at school insisted on keeping her informed of Bryce’s doings--whether she wanted to hear or not. The marriage didn’t matter, only that she wasn’t still at the airport when the happy couple left for their honeymoon. She’d be out of here way before then.
Jennie followed a businessman down the ramp. He muttered about the delay in a big computer deal. Behind her an older woman cried because she would miss her sister’s 50th anniversary party.
Jennie was too tired to either cry or mutter. Place one foot in front of the other. That’s all.
Jostled by the crowd as she entered the airport, she followed the businessman, who seemed the type of person who could get things accomplished.
He strode toward a counter with a long line of people waiting--as there were in front of every counter she could see down the length of the concourse.
As a blue-uniformed woman walked past, Jennie snagged her arm. The business man turned today Jennie.
“When can I get a flight out of here?” Jennie asked.
“I’m sorry, but this storm has closed down the entire airport. There will be no flights leaving for at least a few hours.” The woman looked as tired as Jennie felt, and she’d obviously forced the smile on her face. “And there is no guarantee when they’ll start up again.”
Hours? Stuck in Abilene?
“You’re kidding,” the businessman echoed Jennie’s thoughts, only with more decibels. “I can’t sit around here. I’ll take my business elsewhere.”
The woman shrugged. “I wish I could help you. You can talk with the other airlines if you’d prefer, but they can’t take off, either.”
If Jennie couldn’t fly out of town, she’d drive. She’d been in this airport before, and she knew where to find the rental car booth. Leaving the man behind her, she crossed the length of the airport, now muttering.
She passed a huge line of people before her foggy brain registered the fact that they were all waiting for a rental car. Disheartened, she started back toward the end of the line, but hadn’t reached it before a woman called out, “I’m sorry, folks. We just rented our last car.”
No rental cars, either?
Jennie sighed. She needed sleep. She’d been up for one hundred hours a week for the last month, during her emergency room training, and she could barely think straight. She probably wasn’t safe behind the wheel, anyway. Hopefully the airport shuttle was still working but, even if it wasn’t, surely she could catch a cab. She’d let someone drive her to a hotel somewhere, get some sleep, and find a way out of town when she was rested enough to think of one.
Jennie passed a bank of telephones. Before she began this running around, she’d better call her mother and let her know she wouldn’t be home for at least a day or two, even longer if she had to drive back to Idaho.
Turning to go back and collect her suitcase from the carousel, she bumped into someone. “Sorry,” she said automatically.
Startled, Jennie looked down into the eyes of the old woman who’d sold her and Bryce the painting the year before.
Charity Beaumont.
“My word, Jennie Ryan, is that you?” Charity’s familiar face crinkled into an excited smile. “The storm did bring you into Abilene after all? Well, this is the day. You must come and stay with me, my dear. I insist. I have to hear all about whatever destiny brought you here today.”
Jennie shook her head and couldn’t respond. The older woman was delusional. There was a much simpler explanation. Not destiny. Not fate. Not anything but a horrible, ironic accident that proved God does have a sense
of humor.
If you’d like to read more, go to www.BooksByHeatherHorrocks.com
Thanks again. I hope you enjoyed the read. ~~ Diane Darcy