by Lisa Moreau
Adrenaline coursed through her when she heard the kitchen doors swing open. She jumped up, screamed “ahhh,” threw the drink into the intruder’s face, jabbed her ring at him, and assumed a karate pose. Emily had never done karate before, but she’d seen The Karate Kid at least a dozen times and mentally patted herself on the back for the last-minute brainstorm. In all the commotion it took a few moments to comprehend what she was seeing. The intruder wasn’t a man at all, but instead a woman, and not just any woman…it was the cranky waitress from the Little Bird.
“What the fuck?” The woman—wasn’t her name Sydney—wiped green gunk from her face and went cross-eyed when she stared at Emily’s ring, which was two centimeters away.
Emily lowered her arm, unsure of what was happening, but then pointed her ring at Sydney again. Just because Emily had met her at the café didn’t mean she actually knew her. She was still an intruder. Sydney wiped her face on her sleeve. “Emily? What the hell are you doing here? And why the fuck did you just throw my drink on me? Christ, would you look at this?” She examined the front of her shirt. “First, your girlfriend gets tomato soup all over me, and now this. I spent all my money on those ingredients. Well? Aren’t you going to say anything?” Sydney put her hands on her hips, looking a lot like the Jolly Green Giant.
Emily had so many questions she didn’t know where to start. “You!” Weak start, but at least it was something.
Sydney tried unsuccessfully to push Emily’s hand away. “Get that thing outta my face.”
“Don’t make a move. You don’t want to be on the receiving end of this.”
Sydney held out her wet shirt, which had probably soaked her to the skin. “You gonna blind me with your ostentatious diamond?”
“I’m just protecting myself.”
“From what?”
“You! You’re a burglar…an interloper…a criminal.”
“You’re the intruder, not me.” Sydney walked to the sink and splashed water on her face.
“I paid Jill yesterday to rent this cabin, and she didn’t say anything about you being here.”
Sydney took her time washing her hands and drying them. Finally, she turned around and leaned against the counter. “Jill invited me to stay here while she’s out of the country.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. Why would she rent the place to me?”
Sydney shrugged. “Maybe she forgot.”
Emily finally lowered her ring finger, which was still pointed at Sydney. “You’re bluffing.”
“Hey. I’m just telling you like it is. She offered it to me after you and your girlfriend got me canned.”
“I’m going to email…wait…you were fired?”
“Oh, like you don’t know.” Sydney rolled her eyes.
“Wow. I’m sorry. I didn’t want that to happen.” Emily rubbed her forehead. “Ohhh, so that’s why you were so hostile at the café yesterday.”
“So you see, I belong here and you don’t.” Sydney pushed off the counter, breezed past Emily, and went into the living room.
“Wait a second. I’m not going anywhere,” Emily said, following close behind. “I’m emailing Jill to see what she has to say about this.”
Sydney grunted. “Good luck with that. She never checks messages when she’s out of the country.”
“So what are we supposed to do?”
“I’m staying. You’re leaving.” Sydney stomped up the stairs.
“That’s what you think, buster!”
Buster? Sydney was anything but. She was a head-turning babe with the most perfect features of anyone Emily had ever met—even with disgusting green stuff all over her face—which was all the more reason Emily needed to get this mix-up straightened out. And fast.
* * *
Sydney burst into the bedroom and ripped off her shirt, changed, and sat on the edge of the bed. The last thing she needed was a complication, especially from the woman who’d gotten her fired. Well, technically it was Emily’s girlfriend, which was the same thing…sorta. Sydney could BS her way through anything, but she’d be in big trouble if Jill checked her email. She’d be hard-pressed to come up with a story to refute the fact that she’d broken into the cabin, which, by the way, had been ridiculously easy. Sydney couldn’t believe where Jill had hid the key. What a dunce. She was probably the type to use her birthdate as her computer password. Some people had no street smarts.
Sydney stood and bolted out the door. She didn’t have time to fret about Emily. She needed to unpack her car and get the pole set up. She had a lot to accomplish and only a week and a half to do it. When Sydney got downstairs, Emily was standing in the same position as when she’d left her.
“Still here, I see,” Sydney said.
“I’m not going anywhere. I emailed Jill.”
“Where’s your fiancée?”
Sydney walked to the window and peered outside. She spotted a white truck, with someone sitting in the driver’s seat, parked across the street. It was the same vehicle she’d seen when she first arrived, at least five hours ago. Who would sit in their car for that long?
“Gretchen? She’s not with me.”
Sydney turned and faced Emily. “She doesn’t care if you shack up with another woman? Especially the one who so-called ruined the most important moment of her life?”
Emily opened her mouth but then snapped it shut, big brown eyes filled with fear. Sydney had her now. This little arrangement would never fly.
“Why don’t you just drive into town and rent a nice little bed-and-breakfast?” Sydney asked.
Emily threw her shoulders back and straightened her posture. “First, I’m not leaving when I’ve already paid for the cabin, and second, there aren’t any hotels available. Not with the women’s festival going on.”
Damn. Sydney hadn’t thought about that. Still, though, she needed privacy to prepare for the audition. Emily had to go.
Sydney grinned and rubbed her palms together. “Great. Hope you don’t mind sharing a bed.”
Emily’s eyes jumped to the ceiling. “How many rooms are up there?”
“A bedroom, a bathroom, and an office.” Sydney winked and leered at Emily seductively.
“I’m not falling for your scare tactics,” Emily said but took a shaky step backward. “I have an errand to run, and when I come back I expect you to be gone.” She grabbed her bag and was out the door.
Heat flooded Sydney’s cheeks. No one was going to tell her what to do. She’d been pushed around by her mom almost her entire life, and vowed it’d never happen again. Sydney opened the front door and watched Emily drive away in a luxurious navy BMW. Hopefully that errand consisted of finding a place to stay. Considering what she was driving and the gargantuan diamond on her finger, she could afford a hotel. If Sydney couldn’t stay in the cabin, she’d have to sleep on a park bench.
Sydney went to her car, popped the trunk, and hoisted out a long box. Thankfully, Monica had loaned her a portable pole so she could get lots of practice in before the audition. She rested the box against the car and glanced over her shoulder. The white truck was still there, and the driver was staring right at her. From what she could tell it wasn’t anyone she recognized. This guy was up to no good. She could feel it. After slamming the trunk shut, Sydney strode purposefully toward him. He immediately rolled up the window, started the vehicle, and screeched his tires as he sped away. Sydney stood in the middle of the road and watched the disappearing taillights. Who the hell was that guy, and what did he want?
Chapter Six
Farmer Fran
Emily stopped on the side of the road and googled Bud’s Burrito ’n Bait Shop, since she had no idea where she was going. Seemed like an odd combo for a store. Hopefully they didn’t actually sell food and minnows in the same place. Once the address was programmed into her GPS, she merged back into traffic and headed down Highway 33 to Meiners Oaks, a suburb of Ojai.
Tingles rippled down Emily’s spine. She was about to get the lowdown on the loveb
irds. This would be the most amazing thing she’d ever experienced, not to mention the fact that it would save The Tweet. The magazine would get national attention after this. Emily smiled to herself, thinking about the conniption fit Owen would have. Everything was falling into place…except for the cabin. Emily hated that she’d argued with Sydney. She never butted heads with anyone—except Owen—but the woman was beyond stubborn. Hopefully after some time and space, she’d be more reasonable and scram. Gretchen would never sanction such a living arrangement, even for a few days.
Emily turned down a narrow gravel road and slowed when rocks pinged her car. Within a few yards, she turned on the headlights, everything suddenly dark from the forest of overhanging trees. This was certainly an out-of-the-way place for a store. Who’d drive this far for burritos and / or bait?
The sound of rushing water prompted Emily to stop. She rolled down her window and searched for the source, delighted to see a small, trickling waterfall. What a beautiful place. She grabbed binoculars out of the glove compartment and scanned the trees, spotting California quail and killdeer. Emily’s heart lurched. Perched on a branch was a great horned owl. It had a bulky body, white throat, and distinctive ear tufts. This was a good sign. Owls are thought to bring good luck, and that’s exactly how Emily felt about meeting with Fran, which reminded her she’d better get moving. She always prided herself on never being late.
A half mile later the glint from a tin building caught Emily’s eye. It was Bud’s Burrito ’n Bait Shop. After parking between two muddy, beat-up-looking trucks, she got out of the car and climbed rickety steps, assaulted by a nauseating fishy scent when she creaked open the screen door. The store was packed with fishing poles, scads of colorful lures, a tank filled with minnows, and an aquarium jam-packed with creepy, crawly things.
Emily eyed an elderly man with a white, stubbly beard peering at her suspiciously from behind the counter. She approached and held out her hand.
“Hi. I’m Emily.”
The man gave her a limp handshake. “Bud. Pleased to make your acquaintance. What can I do fer you?”
Or at least that’s what Emily thought he’d said since his speech was slurred due to a toothpick dangling out of the corner of his mouth.
“I’m supposed to meet someone here named Fran.”
“Over there.” Bud pointed.
Emily spotted a burly-looking woman wearing tattered, dirt-stained overalls and a lopsided straw hat. Fran looked to be over six feet tall and probably weighed close to three hundred pounds. She had one hand jammed into her pocket while the other stuffed a burrito into her mouth. If it hadn’t been for large bosoms, Emily would have sworn Fran was a man. She could care less what the woman looked like, though. All that mattered were the lovebirds.
Emily practically skipped across the store. “Fran? I’m Emily. Oh my goodness. It’s so nice to meet you. This is all so amazing. When my assistant got your call, I just couldn’t believe it. I was sure he’d gotten it wrong. But no, he said Madagascar lovebirds.”
Fran stood motionless, sporting the best poker face Emily had ever seen. She took another bite and chewed in slow motion, never taking her eyes off Emily.
“Listen to me. I’m just going on and on. So where exactly are the lovebirds?” Emily gazed up expectantly at the towering woman.
Fran blinked three times and looked at Emily as though she were an unidentifiable insect. “Want a burrito?”
Food? Who cared about food when rare birds were nearby? Emily let her gaze follow Fran’s finger, which pointed to a handwritten menu next to a mounted scaly fish head.
“Uh…no, thanks. I’m good. So, about the birds. How many are there? Did you get photos? When did you first see them?”
Fran shook her head and put her burrito down on the germ-ridden counter next to a worm-filled container. “I’ll tell ya ’bout those harebrained birds. They’re eating all my figs!”
“That’s a real shame,” Emily said, trying to sound sympathetic.
“I called so you could tell me how to get rid of ’em.”
Emily gasped and placed a hand over her heart. “You don’t mean…”
“I ain’t talkin’ about shootin’ ’em. I want ’em off my property!”
“Phew. That’s a relief.”
“If you can’t help me I’ll find somebody who can.” The skin on Fran’s sun-damaged, leathered face turned bright red.
“No! I’m your woman.” The last thing Emily needed was Fran spreading the word about the lovebirds.
“Well? What you gonna do about it?” Fran picked up the burrito and took another bite.
“I can come out to your farm right now and―”
Fran shook her head. “Ain’t no one invited to my place.”
“But…how am I supposed to see the birds?”
Fran tilted her hat back and scratched her stubby, black hair. “We seem to have our wires crossed, missy. You tell me how to git those things off my land, and I do it.”
“Riiight, but―”
“No buts about it. Now I’m leaving tomorrow afternoon for Santa Paula. Meet me back here Wednesday at noon with a solution.”
“But that’s a week away!”
Emily was tempted to grab Fran’s arm as she turned but decided physical force wasn’t the smartest idea, especially when the woman had several inches and many pounds on her. Fran tipped her hat to Bud and walked out of the store.
Well, damn. What was Emily supposed to do now? She couldn’t get to the lovebirds if Fran didn’t allow her on the farm, and she certainly didn’t want to wait around a week until she got back. Emily shook her head and walked to the counter.
“Problem, little lady?” Bud asked, the toothpick still dangling out of his mouth.
“Big one. How well do you know Fran?”
Bud jutted out his lower lip. “’Bout as well as anyone, I suppose.”
“Do you know where her farm is located?”
“Yep.”
Emily paused, silently urging him on. Finally, she asked, “Could you tell me?”
“Nope.”
Getting information out of Bud was like pouring molasses.
“Because?”
Bud took the toothpick out of his mouth and flicked it in the trash. “Fran isn’t what you’d call a people person. She don’t allow no one on her land except fer a few workers.”
“I’m sure I could google it,” Emily said more to herself than to Bud.
He shook his head. “Wouldn’t do that if I was you. She’d have you behind bars for trespassing before you could say Bud’s Burrito ’n Bait Shop.”
Emily threw her head back and blew out a breath. She looked at Bud and attempted a weary smile. “Thanks.”
Emily got into her car and looked at her cell phone when it rang. Shoot. It was Gretchen. Emily had forgotten to call her when she’d arrived.
“Hey, Gretchen.”
“I thought you were dead!”
Talk about jumping to the worst conclusion possible.
“I’m fine. Sorry I didn’t call, but it’s been nonstop since I got here.”
“Did you meet with that Fran lady?”
“Yeah. It didn’t go as expected. She’s leaving town for a while, so I can’t look for the lovebirds until Wednesday.”
“You’re not staying there all week, are you? We have a wedding to plan.”
“I want to try and contact her again tomorrow before she leaves. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”
Gretchen sighed into the phone. “So how’s the cabin?”
Emily’s heart rate increased. Should she tell Gretchen about Sydney? Probably not. No point in upsetting her when Emily was sure Sydney would most likely be gone soon.
“Great. Listen. I’m driving and trying to concentrate on the road.” That wasn’t a complete lie. It was a curvy lane.
“Where are you headed?”
“The grocery store to pick up a few things.”
“Okay. Well, call me tomorrow.”
“Will do. Have a good night.”
Emily disconnected. Was it weird that she and Gretchen rarely said “I love you”? She knew Gretchen wasn’t the mushy type, but sometimes it’d be nice to hear. Even a shortened version like “love ya” wouldn’t kill her to say. It wasn’t like Emily was any better, though. In fact, she’d probably only uttered it twice in the five years they’d dated. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel it. Emily was sure she loved Gretchen…at least pretty sure. She had no comparison since Gretchen was the only woman she’d ever dated. But what else could it be if it wasn’t love?
* * *
Emily struggled to open the cabin door while holding two bags of groceries. Once inside, she was surprised to see the living room filled with boxes. She glanced around but didn’t see Sydney, so she gently kicked the largest one, which was at least six feet long. Whatever was inside must have been heavy, considering it didn’t budge. She put the bags down, squatted, and read the mailing label on one of the items. If that was Sydney’s address it certainly wasn’t in a good part of town. Emily carefully lifted the top flap and peered inside. What a strange assortment of items: gloves, measuring tape, leveler, and a product called Dry Hands. Emily looked in another box, which was filled with a stack of Dummies books. Before she could clearly see the titles, someone slapped her hand.
“Excuse me,” Sydney said. “Do you make a habit of going through others’ belongings?”
“Sorry.” Emily stood upright, grabbed the grocery bags, and bolted to the kitchen, sure her face was bright red. What was she thinking? She wasn’t the snooping type. She’d let her curiosity get the better of her.