Page 41 of Without a Clue

“Pip.” Nash’s voice comes through the door. “I can hear you breathing. Like one of my old asthmatic horses, I might add. Open up.”

I pop my hand over my mouth, frown, then quickly unbolt the door.

A little smile lights up his face when he sees me standing in my pajamas, one hand over my mouth, the other with a hand mirror pressed tight to my chest.

“What are you planning to do with that?” he says, nodding to the mirror.

“Self-defense,” I say. “And what are you doing here?”

“Giving actual defense to the girl with a plastic mirror. Mind if I come in?”

I feel a sudden surge of adrenaline rise from my stomach to my throat and quickly tamp it down.

Because.

Well.

Isn’t that nice, though?

There’s something . . . well . . . rather nice in the way he’s come to think of me, lady in distress and all. And then, of course, adrenaline in the fact that the deepest part of me is saying, Yes! PLEASE come help me. I’m absolutely a child at heart and don’t want to deal with this situation with a brave face.

I swing the door open wide.

He steps inside.

Walks down the length of the hotel room as if assessing something.

Tells me he’ll be back. Goes the several doors down to his room. Returns with a pillow, some sheets and a blanket, and his computer.

“What are you doing?” I say, standing over him as he begins setting up a little bed on the floor.

“You only have one bed. And I wanted sheets.”

“And a pillow?”

“My neck still has a crick in it from the rock I slept on three weeks ago. So I’m softer than the readers are led to believe. Sue me.”

“And your computer?”

“For writing. Obviously.”

I fling a hand out. “So . . . you’re just planning to sleep here then?”

He drops the pillow at the head of his makeshift floor bed, leans back on the heels of his boots, and stands. “Yes. Well, you didn’t answer your phone.”

“You messaged?” I begin, reaching for my phone on the nightstand.

“And I figure if I’m going to get any sleep, I’m just going to have to be in here myself.”

He puts his hands on his hips and looks from the floor bed to me.

Well, well, well.

The cowboy rescue genes are strong in him.

“What about Crystal?” I say. Or Neena, for that matter. Or Jackie.

“Crystal’s terrifying. She can hold her own.”