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CHAPTER SEVEN
Duncan woke into a sunny, chilly room. He was good at orienting himself wherever he woke up, so long as he’d been conscious when he’d gotten there, so he knew it was Phoebe’s room and smiled as he opened his eyes.
The pillow beside him was empty and cool. He rolled to his back and stretched—and was quickly reminded that he’d dragged a horse trailer around the shoulder of the expressway last night. His delts and traps felt like solid stone this morning. Totally worth it.
But now the room was empty of anyone but him. Well, she ran a ranch, and the sun was full up. She’d probably had to get to work. Leaving him all snug in her bed was a decent sign she hadn’t been sorry to find him here when she woke.
He liked this girl. What did that mean? No idea. But he hoped to play things out a little and find out.
His phone was in his coat, across the room, but Phoebe had an old plastic alarm clock on her bedside table. Assuming it was correct, it was almost nine o’clock. Despite being awake most of the night, he’d gotten nearly his usual sleep in. He felt rested and content, and he didn’t have to be at work for a few hours yet. He’d like to spend more time with her—and get a look at this place in the daylight.
Also, he was pretty sure he smelled bacon and coffee. Time to get up and see what was what.
The room was chilly, so he hurried into his clothes and grabbed his coat to carry downstairs with him. He checked his messages, too, and was relieved to find nothing but his mom’s Okay. Be safe, in reply to his letting her know he might not be home last night.
When he opened the door, the aroma of breakfast doubled, and he thought he could hear the whispered sizzle of the bacon frying. His stomach gave him a kick.
The bathroom was on the way, so he ducked in for his morning piss and to tamp down any bedhead. The spacious room was indeed old-fashioned, with green and black tiles on the bottom half of the walls, a different pattern of green and black tiles on the floor, and toilet, tub, and sink the same shade of green. The curtains at the shower and window were white cotton, like those in her bedroom, and the walls were painted white. Three paint-by-number paintings of horses were framed in black and hung above the toilet.
Again he thought of a time capsule, and again it made him feel something warm and pleasant. Again, he couldn’t say why all this stuff so old it was practically historical charmed him so completely.
He splashed water on his face and rinsed his mouth out, then dried off with a black towel hanging next to the mirror. Then he went out to find Phoebe and that breakfast.
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~oOo~
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He pulled up short at the kitchen doorway. He’d forgotten about the big guy who’d been crashed out in the living room last night, but that big guy was alone in the kitchen, standing at the stove, supported by a pair of crutches as he used a spatula to push bacon grease over eggs in a cast-iron skillet.
He was on crutches because the left leg of his sweatpants was folded and pinned about halfway down his leg. Duncan remembered something else about this guy: Phoebe had met him at the rehab house for wounded vets.
“Uh, morning,” he said, trying not to give the guy a start.
Said guy did not startle. He looked over and smiled. “Mornin’.” Setting the spatula in the skillet, he offered his hand. “I’m Vin.”
Duncan went into the room and grabbed his hand for one of those man-shakes where each let the other know how strong he was. A touch of wariness pinged faintly at the back of Duncan’s head. Phoebe had described Vin as a ‘bud,’ so he hoped he hadn’t detected jealousy or competition in the man’s grip.
“Duncan,” he said aloud and broke the grip. “Good to meet ya. Is Phoebe around?”
“She’s out in the barn, getting everybody going for the day. She’ll be back in soon for breakfast. There’s coffee and mugs under the window over there. Phoebe prefers tea, and that’s what the plug-in kettle by the sink is for. Tea bags in the cupboard above, sugar on the table, milk in the fridge. How d’you take your eggs?”
That settled any worry about whether he was invited for breakfast or expected to GTFO. “Thanks,” Duncan said as he crossed to the coffee. “I take my eggs however they’re served.”
Vin chuckled. “That’s the way to do it, yep. Good man.”
After Duncan got his coffee made and had a couple swallows, he asked, “There anything I can do to help?”
“Just about done here, but if you want to put out some plates and shit, they’re in the hutch in the corner.”
