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She wrapped up the pancakes and fruit, made herself a coffee, and after checking on the dogs, wandered over to the large window that looked over the backyard. It was overcast and the skeletal trees that lined the edge of the property looked forlorn. She shivered as a gust of wind shook the window and thought that maybe the fireplace would lend an air of warmth to an already, cold, dull November morning.
She finished her coffee and was just about to grab some wood from the pile beside the fireplace when Rosie barked and struggled to stand.
“Hey, there,” Grace murmured, helping the dog up. “Do you need me to take you outside?” She scratched behind her ears. “Is that what’s wrong?” Rosie’s ears pointed forward and she growled softly and barked once more.
Another gust of wind slammed against the window and, feeling a bit cagey, Grace glanced around the room. Okay. She was alone in a farm house way the hell out in the middle of nowhere. And if by chance some degenerate decided to break in, there was no one to help her. Only a dog with two broken legs and damaged ribs.
Goose bumps broke out along her forearms and when the doorbell rang, Grace nearly jumped out of her skin. Sweat broke out across her body and, shivering, she got to her feet. Should she answer it?
She hesitated and then feeling silly took a few steps toward the hall that led to the front of the house. But still she was reluctant to answer the door. She didn’t live here—not technically anyway—and she was just about to turn back thinking she shouldn’t open the door to a stranger—when the bell rang out again, this time accompanied by a banging fist.
Obviously, someone wanted to see Matt.
With no choice and feeling more than a little foolish, she jogged down the hallway and opened the door. She wasn’t exactly sure what she expected, but the woman who stood there sure wasn’t it.
She was older than Matt—maybe early fifties—with long hair dyed a little too dark, and makeup that was a little too harsh for this time of day. On second thought, it was a little too harsh for this decade. Grace had heard somewhere that the lines on a person’s face told the story of their life, and if that was true, then this woman had lived hard and fast.
The woman frowned as she looked at Grace, her penciled-in eyebrows reminding Grace of the nasty caterpillars that clung to the trees in Florida. Overly dark, they stood out starkly against her pasty white skin. She looked confused and glanced back at her large SUV before turning to Grace. When she spoke her voice was rough—like two packs a day rough.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
And on top of that she was rude.
“Grace.”
The woman’s frown deepened. “This is Matt Hawkins’ place, right?”
Grace nodded. “Yes. He’s just not here right now.”
She swore, something unintelligible and then sighed. “Do you know when he’ll be back?”
“I’m not sure. Who are you exactly? I can give him a message if you like.”
She snorted. Or maybe it was some weird kind of laugh. But then the woman was silent for a few awkward seconds. She seemed to be struggling with something and caught Grace off guard when she took a step forward. “I need to use the washroom.”
If Grace hadn’t gotten out of the way, she was pretty sure the woman would have knocked her over. And probably not cared. What the hell? The whole thing was strange.
Grace closed the door and pointed to the left. “Powder room’s in there.”
She didn’t bother removing her boots and Grace ran to the utility room to grab a towel. Seriously. Who was this woman?
She’d just finished cleaning up the mess in the foyer when the woman came out of the bathroom, patting her hair back, eyes shrewd and intense.
“You Matt’s girlfriend?” she asked sharply. There was something in her tone that Grace didn’t like. It kind of went along with the look in her eyes as she studied Grace.
Clutching the now wet towel to her chest (she’d not bothered with a bra) Grace squared her shoulders. Maybe her answer was out of line since she really had no right to call herself girlfriend, but she was going to go with it anyway. “I am, and you are?”
The lady’s mouth thinned and for that one moment, she didn’t bother hiding her dislike. That startled Grace. She wasn’t used to being hated on sight for reasons unknown.
“I need to speak with Matt.” The woman was agitated now, and ran bony fingers through the dull, thinning waves at her neck.
“I understand that,” Grace replied. “But like I said, he’s out at the moment and I’m not sure when he’ll be back.”
The woman glared at Grace as if she’d done something wrong and cranked her neck to peer around her, toward the back of the house. For whatever reason, Grace didn’t want her back there. That space was Matt’s. It wasn’t meant for this crazy lady’s eyes.
The woman sidestepped and headed for the kitchen.
“I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” Grace said, hurrying to catch up to her.
