by Ev Bishop
Her smile disappeared. One eyebrow arched. “Me what?”
“You need to do a better job controlling the imbeciles you and Callum let muck about the place. You don’t own the whole river, you don’t own the whole lake, and you definitely don’t own the land across the river.”
Jo’s mouth fell open, but Gray was just getting started.
“You can’t let your careless, numbskull tourists have free rein. It’s dangerous to them and irritating to folks who have legitimate claims to these parts.”
Jo had started to look cross, but now she infuriated Gray further by giggling. “Folks who have legitimate claim to these parts? What are you, some old black-and-white movie cowboy?”
“It’s no laughing matter. You need to take my concerns seriously, or maybe I’ll take them to the regional district—”
Jo’s eyes narrowed and her jaw tightened, definitely cross now. Gray, even in his bizarre rage, couldn’t miss it.
“I give you a lot of leeway, Gray, because of, well, everything, but you have some nerve storming in here, yelling to beat the band, not even having the manners to explain what’s put a bee in your bonnet.”
Yelling to beat the band? A bee in his bonnet? Who sounded like some old movie character now? She did have a point though. He could’ve explained what had happened, instead going straight to shouting.
Gray pushed his hands through his hair and lowered himself into one of the chairs surrounding a huge glowing slab of cedar that formed a masterpiece of a table. His overblown reaction was probably due to adrenalin. He’d been primed and prepared to confront that disquieting nudist again and wanted to have a strong guard up. Now poor Jo had borne the brunt of his unease.
She was staring at him. He raised his hands. “I’m sorry, Jo. I had a bad night, but that’s no excuse.”
Her expression softened immediately—which was a prime example of why he worried about her. She was too soft, too willing to forgive. She should’ve tossed him out for being such a cretin. “Was it your leg?”
Her question made him realize he was unconsciously rubbing the knotted flesh and scar tissue beneath his pant leg, just above his knee.
He shrugged. “Yeah, if the old joint can be trusted for anything, I think the weather will turn soon . . . but that’s not the problem.” He unloaded the details—all the details—about the young intruder.
Jo didn’t address his story immediately. Instead, she poured him a coffee from an insulated carafe. “This is left over from this morning, so it’s old and cold, just how you like it.”
He nodded thanks and sipped. As usual, despite her disclaimers, it was delicious.
She refilled her own mug too and her forehead wrinkled in thought. “We don’t have anyone as young as you described staying here. Until this coming weekend we only have one guest, the musician I told you about, but I don’t think she has long hair.”
“Why would this lake person lie about where she was staying?”
“No idea. Maybe she just wanted to avoid a hassle.” Jo shrugged. “If she knows about River’s Sigh B & B, she could’ve dropped our names, so you’d think she belonged.”
“Could she be one of your sister’s friends?”
Jo laughed. “No, your mysterious skinny dipper sounds a little too Bohemian for Sam’s tastes.”
Gray rubbed his beard. That was true. One of the things he respected about Sam was her no-nonsense approach to life. He’d seen glimpses of her softer side because she couldn’t rein herself in around her romance author husband and little granddaughter Mo, or, more accurately, she didn’t bother to. Gray had no doubt if Sam wanted to, she could even hide her tenderness about them. She could teach anyone a thing or two about keeping a guard up.
“Aisha’s?”
“Nah. If she were Aisha’s friend, Aisha and Mo would’ve been right there with her. Also, Aisha would never infringe on your privacy like that.”
Gray didn’t like even the smallest mystery. He’d been rankled enough by the woman’s presence when he thought she was linked to Jo and Callum. The idea that she was an unknown entity entirely, flitting around a place she knew nothing about, set his teeth on edge. Still, sadly, there was no cure for stupid and as much as he worried too much about too many things, she wasn’t his problem.
He slurped more coffee, gladly took one of the blueberry muffins Jo offered him—and felt embarrassed when he involuntarily closed his eyes in pleasure at the first bite. He couldn’t help himself though, and he’d challenge any man to be stronger. The baked treats were sweet, lemony, buttery, blueberry heaven.
“Have another,” Jo urged.
Who was he to say no? He happily, or as near to happy as he ever felt in his life now, accepted one more. Then he remembered his real purpose for being there. Shoot—not just to rail about some flake in the lake and not, more’s the pity, just for a social call.
He jerked his head toward the door. “So what about the old lady performing artist? She going to show up anytime soon?”
“Old lady performing artist?” Jo’s forehead scrunched again.
“You know, the person you baited me into teaching self-defense?”
“Get real. I hardly baited you.”
Gray waved his muffin and Jo’s eyes twinkled. “Okay, maybe I baited you a bit—but the woman who wants self-defense lessons isn’t old . . . unless you’re calling me old.”
He shook his head quickly. He’d been out of the world at large long enough to become a social dimwit, but he hadn’t lost his whole brain yet.
“She’s right around my age.”
“But I thought she was some big star back in the day.”
“Yeah, but she was a teen star, like Tiffany or Debbie Gibson.”
Gray knew he looked blank.
“Avril Lavigne?”
He still looked blank.
“Let me guess, you were more of a country guy in the 80s and 90s.”
“Classic rock, actually.”
Jo made some teasing response, but Gray hardly heard it. His brain was chugging away, making connections—and corrections—to his formerly held assumptions. If his student wasn’t some sixty-plus, old-school rock star . . . if she was Jo’s age.
He couldn’t keep the horror out of his yelp. “But you’re young!”
“Well, thanks,” Jo said.
“The girl, the woman, in the lake . . . I said she was young.”
Comprehension sparked in Jo’s kind eyes and Gray saw amusement battle with sympathy across her features. Well, she could laugh if she wanted to. This was a disaster.
Behind Gray, the big oak door to the dining hall opened, but he had bigger things on his mind than some tourist making inquiries. “You’re actually serious? You expect me to teach self-defense to a complete idiot?”
Jo gave a tiny, almost imperceptible shake of her head, and Gray realized his mistake immediately. She’d said they currently only had one guest staying at River’s Sigh, and Gray wasn’t the kind of guy who ever had any luck. That meant there was no way the person who’d entered just in time to hear him spout off was a staff member. Bristling, he turned in his chair—and his churning gut’s suspicions were confirmed.
Standing motionless, her face blanched of all color, was . . . the mermaid. She was accompanied by Jo’s sister Sam and was fully clothed in baggy sweatpants and an oversized navy hoody. She wore a cap pulled low over her ears, with her hair tucked up inside—but it was her, no doubt about it.
And it was absolutely no comfort that she looked as startled and unhappy to see him as he was to see her.
“I take it no introductions are needed?” Sam said wryly.
Chapter 5
Mia was conscious of the dining room’s most obvious features—a massive cedar table, floor to ceiling windows along one whole wall, a crazily amazing mountain view—but it was the nondescript door behind her, the one she’d just burst through, that held the biggest part of her attention. It wasn’t too late. She could turn. She could run.
The room
was fragrant with fresh coffee and baked goodies, which normally would’ve had her stomach growling. Right now the smell turned her stomach.
That man, that horrible jerk, from the lake in the woods was here. In the place that was supposed to be her sanctuary, the space she was supposed to be able to practice being by herself while knowing she was safe. How was that possible? And he was talking about self-defense classes and an idiot. Wait a minute . . . shit! He was the instructor—and she was . . . the idiot.
Beside her, Jo’s blonde, model-thin sister Sam, who’d crossed Mia’s path on the way to the hall and introduced herself, gave Mia a quick onceover. Then her cool green eyes fixed on the man Mia was staring at. She spoke. But what did she say? Something like “No introductions are needed?”
Hurry up, come to your senses, moron, Mia muttered to herself. She inwardly steeled her spine and outwardly chuckled. “Uh, no, we’ve met—sort of. He was, of all things, skinny dipping in the lake. I think my presence startled him.”
“What?” The word was a roar—truly, that was the only way to describe it. The angry bushman with his overgrown beard and long curly hair leaped to his feet, looking so ferocious that Mia stepped back.
Jo’s mouth fell open and she seemed at a loss for words, which Mia figured was probably unusual. Sam, however, snickered. “My, my, Gray . . . I never would’ve guessed about this secret wild side of yours. I guess you really are bushed.”
Gray—at least Mia now had a name for the guy towering before her, other than “raging man”—was practically frothing. “I did not. I wasn’t. It was—”
“Me, it was me.” Mia threw her hands up in an exaggerated gesture of surrender. “I was just teasing him a bit.”
“Lying more like it,” Gray snarled.
“So now I’m a liar and an idiot.” Mia shrugged. “I’ve been called worse.”
“I bet you have.”
“Whoa, Gray.” Jo jumped to her feet to emphasize her suddenly stern tone. “I get it. We all get it. Mia startled you yesterday. I’m sure she’s sorry.”
“I actually am,” Mia admitted.
“See, she didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“It is not about my discomfort,” Gray roared. “It’s about safety. Sure, in a perfect world people should be able to wander around naked or blitzed out of their minds and be safe from harm.”
Mia froze as he, totally unbeknownst to him, voiced her very thoughts from the night before.
“But it’s not a perfect world, is it? No, it’s the furthest thing from! What if some weirdo happened across her while she was frolicking around naked as a jaybird?”
“I think that’s a pretty accurate description of exactly what did happen.” Sam arched a shapely eyebrow. “And yet here she is, perfectly well and fine.”
Jo frowned at Sam, but Mia smiled with gratitude for the solidarity. Jo’s observation the day before was spot on. Mia could already tell she was going to like droll, sharp-tongued Sam a lot. Gray seemed oblivious to the insult and lectured on. “There are a million places to dump a body out here where she’d never be found.”
“Yikes,” Sam drawled. “Should we be concerned about how you spend your time?”
Gray slumped back into the chair he’d deserted seconds earlier, and Mia was surprised when what appeared to be a flicker of hurt creased his dark brown eyes. Jo stepped close to Gray and put a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, Sam. Give him a break.”
“What? I’m merely contributing to the conversation he initiated. He’s the one acting like an expert on weirdos and spots to hide bodies.”
Jo shook her head. “I’m sorry, Mia. This really is a nice, peaceful, safe place—and you should be able to do whatever you want on the property with no more unhappy surprises.” She shot a pointed look at Gray, but he was staring down at the table and didn’t notice. “I’ll refresh you on the boundaries.”
“I don’t get it,” Gray whispered, like he was talking to himself. His shoulders sagged as if all the fight had gone out of him.
Mia couldn’t help but wonder what he so sadly didn’t get. Then his head snapped up and his flint-like gaze—nothing kind or soft in his eyes now—locked on her once more. “I’m sorry, but I won’t fit your needs as instructor. You’ll have to find someone else.”
“Couldn’t you try one session, Gray, and see how it goes?” Jo asked. Mia was suddenly reminded of her sister Jackie. She was always trying to make peace, too.
For her part, Mia was torn. A big chunk of her wanted to defend herself, to correct the conclusions this Gray person had jumped to. She was not some risk taking, danger craving adrenaline junkie looney who only wanted self-defense lessons so she could put herself in even more outlandishly unsafe situations.
Another part wanted to tell him to take a flying leap. Where did he get off thinking he knew anything about her at all?
Dominant over every other feeling, however, was a heavy sense of futility and hopelessness. She just wanted to curl up and quit and return to her increasingly small and secluded life.
So why don’t you? her mother’s kind, reasonable voice asked in her head.
Because then the bastards win. You shouldn’t have to stay locked in a tower to be safe, Mia replied internally—but her inner conviction wasn’t as strong as it sounded.
Mia flinched suddenly, realizing she had zoned out for too long. Jo, Sam—and even Gray—were staring at her with something like concern.
She shook her head, suspecting one of them had said something that she should’ve responded to, but for the life of her she didn’t know what. “Sorry. Come again?”
“I asked if you wanted me to see if there’s someone in town who does private lessons. Some of the gyms have martial arts trainers and—”
Mia held up a hand to stop Jo’s kindly intentioned barrage of words and swallowed against nausea. Some days—even a lot of days, lately—it was different, but right now the notion of going someplace, anyplace, in a foreign town, where there’d be so many people, so many strangers, without her mom or her sister or a hired companion made her feel physically ill. “Thank you, but no. It won’t work right now.”
Fully aware she was acting like the loon she’d so desperately wanted to insist to Gray that she wasn’t, Mia turned on her heel and practically sprinted through the blessed door.
On the trail back to Sockeye, she imagined all the gossipy things Jo and her sister and their good friend Gray were probably saying. She didn’t care. They couldn’t say anything about her that she hadn’t already accused herself of. The aspect of the meeting she’d choose to focus on? That she hadn’t been afraid being alone with them. That was a big deal. In fact, screw “big.” As small and pathetic as it might seem to some people, any occurrence of her feeling safe was huge.
Chapter 6
Mia cracked her knuckles and paced Sockeye’s cozy interior, but took no pleasure in its slate flooring, earthy throw rugs, and unique furniture. Even the bedding, which she had loved at first sight—gorgeous Egyptian cotton in river water hues—didn’t distract her. Any time she’d wasted regarding the exploration of the cabin when she first checked in had been made up for in spades. She had every bit of the tiny place memorized right down to how many footsteps it took for her to reach the door to her bedroom from the left side of her bed and the right. She could find the front door and every window in the dark. She had reorganized the kitchen, removing the cutlery and knives from a drawer and placing their tray in a cupboard beside the fridge instead, transferring the heavy frying pan from beside the stove to under the sink. . . .
She knew, of course, that no one familiar with the layout of the cabin would be a threat to her, but as she’d already established and established and established, she slept easier if she took extra precautions. Not that she was sleeping. The first two nights had been a delight and a surprise: she’d got in a solid six or seven hours each night. Now she was back to her old wide-eyed ways.
She stopped pacing and returned to her
notebook, which lay open on the cedar slab coffee table in the living room. She frowned at what she’d written.
Day 1 – Met a stranger in person (Jo) and managed to be relatively normal. Impromptu swim, interrupted/accosted by a monster of a dog and his equally monstrous owner. (You’re trying to see that as a success, she reminded herself. You were spontaneous. You walked all over the place by yourself. You survived—even had fun before it went all downhill.)
Day 2 – Met another stranger (Jo’s sister Sam), without warning or prior planning (extra points!) AND kept an appointment to meet with self-defense trainer. Self-defense trainer is terrible. Rethinking that plan.
Mia wanted to write a far more scathing, self-deprecating entry, describing what an idiot she’d been, but she was attempting to follow yet another bit of her therapist Brenda’s advice and trying to keep a record of, and give herself kudos for, every success, no matter how minuscule. Brenda had given Mia the journal she was currently using, matter of fact, with the words “Success is just the accumulation of small goals” embossed across the front of it. So far Mia had managed to refrain from crossing the words out with black felt marker. How was that for a small goal and a success?
Day 3 – Stayed in.
Day 4 – Stayed in.
Day 5 –
Mia knew all too well what Day 5 would read if she wasn’t careful. Stayed in. To an outsider, maybe it wouldn’t be a big deal. To her it was . . . failure. And having this written record of her lameness? An even more epic failure.
Mia didn’t have a problem, per se, with celebrating small accomplishments. She was just frustrated and exhausted by hers being so small. And she was missing her guitar like she’d had a limb amputated, even though she hadn’t played it for months so had thought it served her right to leave it behind. And she hated this journal and its in your face positivity. Maybe she should give it up and revert to what she liked to write in—blank paged sketch books—and go back to what she liked to write—lyrics. Also, doing the latter part would be a Success. (Yes, with a capital S—but one she wouldn’t write down, so there, Brenda!)