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“Not like you care,” I grumbled petulantly. “You’ve got your case, right? You’re covered.”
He caught up to me without really trying. “Don’t do that. I could have gone for the case, but I pulled you out of the car before it fell over the cliff. So don’t pretend that I put this thing ahead of you.” He grabbed my arm—gently, I supposed, given his strength—and made me stop. My momentum threw me off-balance into his side. “And I do care about you. You force me to. Do you have any idea how uncomfortable it is to be induced to care about someone against your will?”
“Did you hit your head on your way down that ravine?” I demanded.
“You’re messy, and you’re loud and chaotic. And you’re kind. You have a profound sense of what’s right. You made me laugh, really laugh, for the first time in decades. I like the way you look at the world, the way it comes through in your photos. I love that you are a constant surprise. I’m two hundred sixty years old. Do you know how long it’s been since I was surprised by anything?”
“So you like me because I’m chaos,” I scoffed. “I am a walking tornado of destruction. That’s not exactly a profession of love.”
“Do you want one?” he asked, grinning at me and leaning in as if to sweep his mouth over mine.
“No.” I reached up and popped him on the nose like a misbehaving dog. I put my finger in his face. “Sorry, that was probably an overreaction. I’m just a little a wired. But really, do not even think about kissing me right now.”
“Ow!” he exclaimed. “I guess you don’t want one.”
I turned and walked down the road with purpose. “Didn’t see that one coming, did you?” I called over my shoulder.
He pinched his nose, testing it for broken cartilage. “No, I did not.”
GIMME SHELTER
9
The rain stopped, which was the only nice thing I could say about our long, silent walk to the nearest house. The road was broken and muddy, and the only thing that kept me from tripping or falling into ditches was Collin’s keen eyesight. He tried to help me, catching my elbow when it looked as if I might topple over, but I jerked away from him. I didn’t need his pity. I didn’t need his help. I needed him to get a time machine, so we could start this whole trip over again.
We walked until my ankles ached, finally finding a cozy little farmhouse with a green roof and yellow shutters. It looked like something out of a Thomas Kinkade painting. The kitchen light was on, but the rest of the house was dark. In the distance, cows lowed, and chickens made little night noises. As we cautiously approached the front steps, I snagged a tomato from the garden and ate it like an apple.
“OK, what’s the plan?” I asked as we closed in on the house. “Because a lot of scary movies and dirty jokes start out like this, and none of them bodes well for the lone female in this scenario.”
“What does your intuition tell you about the owner?” he asked.
“You’re the one with the gift, not me!” I whispered.
“You have a gift, too.” He put his hands on my shoulders and turned me toward the house. “I feel one heartbeat in that house. But I don’t know anything about the person inside. What do you see? What does the house tell you about this man?”
I shrugged him off, stepping away as I scanned the house and the yard. “There’s a truck in the driveway that’s used regularly, lots of road dust, wear on the tires. But that pretty little champagne-colored sedan has been sitting in the carport for a while. See where the pine pollen and debris have formed a sort of chalk outline around the car? The wash line is worn, but it’s sagging, as if no one has taken the time to wind it up tight for use in a while. The curtains in the kitchen window are in good condition but a couple of years out of date. And they’re dirty. Someone who used to care about these things recently stopped caring. There’s an empty case of beer by the garbage can, not to mention a bulk-size box of TV dinners. So I’m thinking the good farmer’s wife died a while ago, and he hasn’t had the heart to sell her car or take down the curtains. The bad news is that because he’s alone, if we move anything around, he’s much more likely to notice.”
“Very good.”
“But I could be wrong!” I insisted as we rounded the house, searching the backyard. “For all we know, she’s a lousy housekeeper on a visit to her sister’s, and he’s living it up, packing himself to the gills on beer and high-sodium TV dinners. Or he’s killed her, and her preserved body is tucked away in a rocking chair in the root cellar.”
“Still, I think it was a very good guess.”
“Don’t patronize me. I don’t know if it’s a good idea to show up at a stranger’s doorstep with a vampire in tow. He could be a maniac. He could be an antivampire activist. For all we know, he’s got silver stockpiled in there, and he’s just waiting for an opportunity to try it out. After the night we’ve had, I’m not willing to take any chances.”
“Would it make you feel any better if I tried to—”
“Scan the immediate future for my bloody, violent death via farm implement? Yes, it would.”
“Just don’t touch anything, or make any decisions, or move,” he said. He closed his eyes.
I pressed my lips together and crossed my arms. “So insulting.”
He closed his eyes as if concentrating, a line of frustration forming between his brows. After a few long, silent moments, he groaned. “I can’t tell!” he hissed. “I can’t tell what the best course of action is. Damn you and your wily ways, woman!”
“Oh, come on,” I said, chuckling. “I’m not that unpredictable.”
I sat on what looked like a wooden picnic table on the ground. It gave way beneath me, collapsing. I fell back, tumbling ass over teakettle down concrete stairs. I hit the earthen floor with a thud, whacking my head on a bag of feed corn.
